The 202nd Annual Hunger Games: The Credence
by PSULucky
Summary: FIRST POLL OPEN-The Capitol is preparing for its annual Hunger Games, but wants to change things up a bit. Watch as 28 tributes fight to the death in a deadly arena to be named the winner of the 202nd Annual Hunger Games. But this time...things will be a little bit different.
1. Prelude

**Hello, and welcome to the 202nd Annual Hunger Games: The Credence! And yes, this is an SYOT! So, let me just explain a few things, and we'll be good to go! First things first, the tribute profile you should fill out is in my profile (at the top). Please, PM me any tributes you submit. Also, please read the entire explanation of the profile, for it explains a few things that are important for you all to see.  
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**Anyway, there's a poll in my profile that is important regarding this fan fiction, so please, if you get the chance, I would love if you would vote. **

**Alright, feel free to submit a tribute! And remember, you may submit as long as the story summary says SYOT: open! Thanks for reading this, and good luck if you submit a tribute.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games. Also, the 28 tributes are created by other users.  
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**Let the 202nd Annual Hunger Games...begin! (Well, not quite, but you get the drift.)**

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**Prelude**

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**Jayce Estate, the Center of the Capitol**

The wind whipped by the windows; Jayce could almost _see_ it. It was a haunting wind. It sounded like it was speaking to her, but she couldn't quite make out the words. The weather was angry that night.

But Jayce didn't care about the weather. She only cared about one thing: the Hunger Games. With a bottle of champagne in one hand and her glass in another, President Jayce led the conversation. She sat on an expensive lavender couch across from the man she wanted to see: the head game-maker. "Polaris Wendington, how _are _you doing tonight?"

Polaris loved the President's small talk. It was one of the few quirks he found likable about her character. Another was her ruthlessness, and her mercilessness. "You know I am doing well, President. You called me here tonight? You want to…speak to me?"

"Of course I do," she said, laughing lightly. "You know what I want. You know what time of year it is…" She looked at him, the bottle of champagne still unopened and waiting to be drunk.

"The Hunger Games," he mouthed silently. She nodded at him when he answered her. Then he asked, "What are your plans this year, President?"

"Isn't that what _you're _for?" she asked him jokingly. It was no surprise that President Jayce enjoyed designing the theme and arena for the Hunger Games as much as a head game-maker did. Thus, she played an integral role in the creative process each year. "But I have been thinking…"

"I knew you would."

"What is something that all tributes need?"

Polaris looked at the ground squinting. He thought about her question and pondered it extremely seriously. Then, he said, "Strength. Not just physical, but also mental."

Jayce nodded at him. "That is true. But that's not what I am looking for. Of course, strength is important. We all know that! But, think about it: how many winners wouldn't have won had they not been involved in an alliance?"

Polaris shook his head.

"And…how many winners wouldn't have won had their allies betrayed them?"

"Not many…" Polaris said slowly. "So, are you talking about…"

"Trust," Jayce said flatly. "You need trust to survive in the Hunger Games. It's so ironic. That's why I love it."

"Why is it ironic?"

"People are fighting for their lives, Polaris. Would you trust one of the twenty-seven people trying to kill you? It seems so…silly. Don't you think? Shouldn't a tribute want to stay alone? Shouldn't they want to remain away from as many people as possible? You should think they would. But, they don't. And it's for the best, because some people are actually trusting. Somehow, even though they're inches away from death, they'll trust a person. And that is the epitome of the Hunger Games. That, right there, shows exactly how the tributes think. And in the end, they do know that only one of them can survive. It is…incredible."

"I…I'm sorry, President Jayce, but I…fail to see your point," Polaris said, spreading his hands as though asking a very general question to a group of people.

"This year must be about trust, more than ever," she said.

Polaris nodded and smiled. He seemed to understand. He didn't need to hear her little speech to Comprehend what she wanted. He just wanted to hear her ideas. "Then it is done. I will get to work immediately. But, I should know better. You probably have drawn up some plans. Care to share them?"

"Over some champagne?" Jayce asked, smiling as she lifted the bottle.

"Yes," Polaris answered.

He watched as the President poured them each a glass of champagne, and he graciously took his glass from her hand. He toasted it to the 202nd Hunger Games and took a sip, feeling the immediate warmth of the substance that revitalized his bones and made him feel ready to plan that year's Hunger Games.

"I want to hear your plans," he said politely.

President Jayce smiled and nodded. "I…" She paused. "I will be telling those plans to Syrus Calloway, Polaris."

"What?" he asked her, with desperation in his voice. "Syrus? But…he is not the head game-maker, President. I have been the head game-maker for the past eight years. I don't understand…please…"

She noticed his hands were shaking slightly. He noticed this, too, and tried to stop them. President Jayce smiled. "I'm sorry, Polaris. But, I think it's time the Hunger Games took on a change. The same game-maker from year to year…gets stale." She looked him directly in the eye. "I'm sorry, Polaris, but I have no more use for you. Thank you, though, for trusting me."

Polaris was shaking more rapidly now. His whole body began to contort and twist, and his face became one of pain and anguish. In a moment, his body collapsed onto the couch, and his struggling and shaking was no more. The glass of champagne in his hand lay resting on the tip of his fingers. Jayce watched it for a second; then it fell. She smiled again.

"Polaris, you are fired."

* * *

Tribute Status:

District 1 Male - **taken**

District 1 Female - **taken**

District 2 Male - **taken**

District 2 Female - **taken**

District 3 Male - **taken**

District 3 Female - **taken**

District 4 Male - **taken**

District 4 Female - **taken**

District 5 Male - **taken**

District 5 Female - **taken**

District 6 Male - **taken**

District 6 Female - **taken**

District 7 Male - **taken**

District 7 Female - **taken**

District 8 Male - **taken**

District 8 Female - **taken**

District 9 Male - **taken**

District 9 Female - **taken**

District 10 Male - **taken**

District 10 Female - **taken**

District 11 Male - **taken**

District 11 Female - **taken**

District 12 Male - **taken**

District 12 Female - **taken**

District 13 Male - **taken**

District 13 Female - **taken**

District 14 Male - **taken**

District 14 Female - **taken**


	2. Syrus Calloway

**Hello, ladies and gentlemen! Here we have the next addition to the fan fiction, and we introduce a new (and important) character. Remember, there are still tons of open slots for tribute submission (check out the bottom of the prelude, also, the tribute profile is in my profile), so feel free to submit a tribute whenever you want!  
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**Another thing is that I will be responding to everyone's reviews, for I'd like to thank the reviewers for taking the time to review. So, here goes...**

**ShootingForWishingStars: First, kudos for being the first reviewer! Second, thanks a lot for your kind review! I liked what you said about President Jayce (yes, she has...a seemingly unfazed personality). And yeah, I don't think I'd be able to survive as a game-maker either. Too much pressure! And I don't want to die! Also, thanks for giving me your first/third person opinion. I agree with you, actually (I always preferred third person, and I think you can make it very first-person-esque depending on how you write it). Once more, thank you for your review!**

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**Syrus Calloway  
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**Syrus Calloway, Head Game-maker (Capitol Outskirts)**

"Syrus, would you please take a look at these prototypes?"

"Not now, Barry. Leave them on my desk. I'll take a look at them later. How's the arena coming along?"

The head game-maker's right-hand man, Barry Persei, stood in the doorway of Syrus's office with his hands filled with papers. The latest prototypes of the arena were being drawn up, including countless ideas and conceptual designs for Capitol created bugs, plants, animals, and other wildlife. Syrus looked at this impending stack of papers with tired eyes; he was swamped with work.

"How does Jayce expect me to get this whole Hunger Games set up? Couldn't she have given me a warning that—oh look!—the old game-maker has disappeared, so you'll need to take his place?" Syrus held his head as though he had a head-ache. His jet-black hair looked messy and unbrushed, and, though his eyes were open, they looked like they were staring at nothing.

"I…is there anything I could do?" Barry asked quietly. The glasses on the bridge of his nose, coupled with the sad expression on his face made him look no more excited to work than Syrus. The plump man scurried over to Syrus's desk and distributed the papers. "I'd like to help."

"You can't," Syrus said matter-of-factly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so quick with you. It's just that…you know what happens to game-makers who don't put up a good show." He made a quick slashing gesture over his throat, and Barry's large, childlike eyes opened up even more. The man nodded quickly, wished Syrus good luck, and bounded out the door as quick as he could so as to not interfere with his boss's work. Syrus sputtered, "Thanks," as he left.

On his desk, next to the pile of work Barry had just brought in, was a stack of important papers that President Jayce needed him to review and sign. It didn't seem very important, but he knew better than to mess with the President. He looked at the top of each of these papers: "from the office of President Shimmer Jayce." He had never known what the president's first name was.

"Stupid name," he muttered, wondering why her parents wanted to defile their child as they did. He sipped some of his coffee and looked out his office window, where he saw cranes, construction workers, horticulturalists, biologists, and engineers working over a vast expanse of nothingness. In but a few days, there would be an arena there. And in a few days more, twenty-seven tributes would die there. He shook his head and sighed.

_How did I even get this job? _he wondered. _Polaris was slaving away over what he thought was going to be the greatest Hunger Games to date…and then…where did he go? He disappeared. And then Jayce called me in. _

He thought more about his last-minute hiring and immediately knew why it was he who got the job; his father was the highest-ranking judge at the Capitol court. And Syrus was one of the best architects the Capitol had to offer. He knew that all it took was a little flexing of his father's political muscle to get Syrus the most important job in the Capitol. And worse yet, his father and President Jayce were great _friends_. Somehow, Syrus couldn't stand the woman.

But it was his job to create the arena, and that was exactly what he was going to do. It was no lie that he lived a good life; he was wealthy, he had a family of four, and he was a popular guy around the Capitol. He didn't want to lose all of that…and he feared he might. How many past head game-makers _weren't _eventually killed by the Capitol? This thought dwelled on his mind and kept him awake at nights. He felt he was beginning to lose his mind.

Another sip of coffee forced him to stand up; he was wide awake, but yet he was so tired at the same time. He walked over to the window and looked out. Several cranes were hauling out Earth and building a trench; he recognized that as the dividing line the President had him build between the northern and the southern portions of the arena.

He remembered her words perfectly._ "We need four sections to this arena. Five, actually. Here, look at these drawings."_

"_This is ambitious."_

"_You can do it. I know you can."_

That scared him. He couldn't tell if she actually had confidence in him or not. Or did she tell all of the head game-makers that before she poisoned them, or hanged them, or fed them to a muttation? He swallowed hard and backed away from the arena. He didn't want to look outside. He wasn't against the Capitol, and he wasn't even against the Hunger Games, but he was against how poorly he felt they were handled. Even he, at a young age, began to question the fine line between the Capitol's making a statement and sheer tyranny.

And every year President Jayce always declared some sort of "theme," as she always called it. What was this year's? Oh yes. "Trust," he whispered aloud.

"_Syrus, we will be planning something a little different for the tributes this year. I have some plans."_

Of course she did, he thought. She always had plans. The President was infamous for becoming too involved in the Hunger Games. During the actual event itself, she always demanded that she be present during the management of the games. As the technicians worked the controls, started a fire here, dropped a parachute there, and made it rain or snow, she was always there barking about what _she _thought would spice up the games. Syrus wondered just how well the two of them would get along as they battled for power in the room just beneath his office: the control room.

Syrus let these thoughts escape from his mind. And in a few more minutes, he found himself outside wandering around the mountains of dirt and the assortment of cranes and workers. A few men and women asked him some questions—"Where should I place this?" and "Does this look good?"—which he answered as quickly as he could.

A few minutes later, the man found himself wandering much farther away from his office and to a place in the arena that hadn't even been worked on yet. He looked at the grass as it blew in the breeze and began to think: how many tributes would be standing where he was? How many tributes would he be able to see die from where he stood? The thought plagued his mind as he walked even farther into the distance.

And the distance was vast. Walking along the soon-to-be arena, the man felt even smaller than he already was. Something about it just made him feel so unimportant. In that seemingly infinite world, holding the title of head game-maker didn't matter. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He came upon a small creek. It was untainted and pure, and the water looked fresh and cleansing. He stooped down to take a drink, letting the water engulf his hands and pour down around him. How many tributes would be doing the same thing he was?

And then he walked a little bit more. He walked so far he couldn't even see the game-makers' building. He had walked up and down bowls and hills and through tall grasses and next to a small pond. He felt lost, but he felt more alive than ever. Ironic, he thought, that he should feel alive in an arena built for death.

_The further I go into this game, the more I grow to hate it._


	3. Cole Jayce

**Hey everyone. Here's chapter 3, AKA the second to last chapter before the tributes are introduced. Also, as of right now, I have 17/28 of the tributes, so I think we're doing pretty well. If you know anyone who would be interested in submitting a tribute, though, feel free to spread the word! Also, if you find yourself bored, I'm in DESPERATE (and when I say desperate, I mean _desperate_) need of younger/friendlier/weaker boys, so if you submit one, I will love you FOREVER.  
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**Here I shall respond to my reviewers...**

**x FallingAshes x : Thanks for your review! I appreciate it very much, especially since you said you don't typically give out random praise :D. I'm glad you like how things are going and I'm glad you like the president! And yeah...hopefully we won't have to worry about things getting too confusing . heh heh. Thanks again, and I hope you like the new chapter!  
**

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**Cole Jayce**

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**Cole Jayce, age 12 (Jayce Estate)**

The pitter-patter of his own footsteps were scaring him. As he rushed down one of the grand hallways of his mother's mansion, Cole felt like he was being haunted by haunting. The dark, clanking noise his shoes made against the marble floor sounded ominous and impending. He knew why they did: that day was the day his mom would be making her annual Hunger Games speech.

Cole didn't like the Hunger Games speech.

Before every reaping his mother spoke in front of the entire country and—from what he could tell—berated the families and the people of the other districts. Each year, she always spoke of the Hunger Games and the kids who would soon be dying in a threatening and angry way. She wasn't the same mother he knew when she gave that speech. "Why?" he had always asked her. "Why must you sound so angry?"

He loved his mom, and for that reason didn't understand why she got the way she did each Hunger Games. He knew what the games were, but his mother always advised him never to watch. "Why do kids have to hurt other kids?" he once asked her, looking up at the tall, slender woman he called mom.

She never answered his questions directly. At first she was always able to stifle his curiosity with answers that weren't really answers, but as he got older, he recognized her tricks and pleaded with her. "Why?!"

She gave him a different answer one time: she had told him he was so very mature for his age. She told him he was practically an adult. But then she added, "But you can be so naive and childish sometimes, Cole."

He pondered that answer she gave him frequently. What made him so naive? Not understanding the Hunger Games? Or questioning them? Or thinking that murder was immoral? He didn't understand. He didn't like the Hunger Games.

But even though his mother was a staunch supporter of those games, he always loved her. And stranger yet, she loved him. Even after the death of her husband, president Jayce found herself tied to her son more than ever. And despite the fact she had countless duties as president (including being a notoriously hateful person) she always found time for her child.

"He looks like you so much," her husband had always told her. And Cole did. Both Jayce and her son shared the exact same color blonde hair—his short, hers long—and the same green eyes. They both had pale, nearly white skin—the president hated the sun and she urged Cole to avoid it like the plague—and the same lean body shape. Last, Cole shared the thoughtful, quizzical look his mom always had in her eye (which she often hid from other political people around her), for he was an inquisitive child, himself.

It was nearly lunch and Cole found himself in another room in the mansion. His mother wasn't there. He squinted his eyes and sighed, trying to think of where she might be. The wheels in his mind were turning faster than ever. He should have known where she was: he knew his mom well. "The roof," he whispered to himself with realization.

Indeed, his mother always liked to stand on the mansion's roof-balcony at least one time before the official start of the Hunger Games. With her black parasol for her much-needed protection, the president stood, looking out over the Capitol. He gaze was pointed in the direction of the arena, which was so far away from the center of the Capitol that it wasn't visible even from the roof of her mansion.

"Mom," Cole called out to her. She turned with a warm smile. It wasn't her usual, menacing smile; it was a true and kind smile that made Cole think everything was okay.

"Cole," she said to him, seeing that he was out of breath. He had tried hard to find her, no doubt. She knew exactly why he did, as well. "I know what you want to ask me…" She looked down at him with a stern but almost playful look. "You want to ask me about the Hunger Games, don't you?"

Cole's face flushed, and he turned away shyly. She knew him too well, he thought. "I just…I ask you this every year," he began. "I just thought that maybe…if I asked you again…I would understand."

"Let us walk and talk," Jayce suggested, putting her arm around him and leading him back to the interior of the house. "The sun is dreadful this morning, anyway." As the two found themselves in the upstairs hall, Jayce said, "Cole, the Hunger Games are meant to teach the citizens of Panem a lesson. You see, many, many years ago, long before you were born, long before _I _was born…the people of Panem did very bad things."

Cole listened attentively. She had never gone so in depth or opened up so easily about the games before. Usually she brushed him away or tried to change the subject. Perhaps she deemed him old enough to learn?

"The people of Panem were rebellious. They didn't listen to the Capitol, and they only wanted the things _they _wanted. Doesn't that sound greedy?"

"I guess so," Cole said, still a little confused.

"So the Hunger Games had to begin," Jayce continued. "The games were meant to show that the people all over the country shouldn't disrespect their government—which is me, the President. You see, the people were like naughty children who didn't want to listen to their parents. But they were worse: they were people who thought they could govern themselves and overthrow the people trying to unify them. Do you see where I am going?"

"So the Hunger Games are meant to…show Panem that the Capitol is good?"

"That's the optimistic way of putting it, but yes. It's meant to show that the people of Panem cannot do whatever they want. They must listen to the Capitol, which was only trying to help them in the first place. So, we must sacrifice their children so they learn that they can never misbehave again. I know you don't like the Hunger Games, Cole. It is rather strange, since most people who live in the Capitol—children alike—love the games."

Cole didn't answer, but continued to listen.

"So, I know I won't be able to convince you that the games are good. But what you must understand is this: the people of Panem are the bad ones. The Capitol is not at fault for creating the Hunger Games. The people in all of the districts put it upon themselves by rebelling. So, you see, it's like the people are _asking _for the games. The Capitol has done nothing wrong…"

For a minute, the boy didn't say a word. He contemplated what she said and ran her words through his mind a few times. So it was Panem's fault? It was their fault twenty-seven of their children had to die each year? "Thanks, mom…for telling me," Cole said quietly. He began to walk away, but his mother stopped him quickly.

She needed to add one last thing. Jayce stooped down to the height of her son, put her hands on his shoulders, looked into his bright green eyes, and spoke. "I just want you to know that it's not my fault. But the Hunger Games are good," she whispered, her eyes wide. "The Hunger Games _are_ good."

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**Oh dear, Jayce is gettin' all creepy up in here. Anyway, I just wanted to say that there's only ONE more short chapter before the reapings/train rides/however I decide to do it.**** So yeah, I hope you guys are ready and excited to cheer on your tributes! Muahahaha! Also, there should be a poll up kinda fairly soonish about which tribute is your favorite and whatnot. But we'll tackle that when we get to it.  
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**Also, I'd LOVE to hear what you guys think of the three big characters introduced so far: President Jayce, Syrus (Head Game-Maker), and Cole (President's son).  
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**Until next time, farewell! **

**~PSULucky**


	4. Jayce's Speech

**Howdy everyone! PSU here with the last chapter before the tributes are introduced! W00t! Anyway, I believe we need only three more tributes (D9 Female and D11 Female and D11 Male), so we're almost there. If you know anyone who'd be interested in submitting, please let them know about the fic! Also, I want to give a giant thanks for helping me even out the male tributes in terms of personality/strength/etc. For that last male slot and the last two female slots, feel free to make them any kind of character you want! :D**

**x Falling Ashes x : Hehe yeah, I guess you'd never think someone as crazy as Jayce would have a kid, but yeah! And I TOTALLY know what you mean when you say crazy is good (I love those characters-the crazy ones haha). I also like your take on the other two as well. Yeah, Cole's a lot different than his mom in a good way, and Syrus, well...he's not loving life so much at the moment. Anyway, thanks for the review!  
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**T1nyDanc3r: I'm glad you like the President! I like what you said about her, too (about being untaxed and easy to hate. It's interesting hearing your opinions of the characters). And yeah, the scene where she poisons Polaris intrigues me (yes, even me). On one hand I like the subtlety of Jayce's murder, but on the other hand I rather liked "hinting" at the poison what with the champagne bottle and the fact that the champagne was even poured in the first place. So when you look back, it feels kind of obvious, yet...I dunno, I'm rambling now. But either way, your comment opened my eyes to this new concept of not-so-subtle subtlety and how it could be effective in writing. Hmm...thanks for the review!**

**BecauseofKillianJones: Yeah, I'm a fan of Cole, too. :) I find fascinating the characters who challenge the traditional wisdom of the society when they normally shouldn't. It looks like Jayce has a little problem on her hands, what with her closest blood relative hating her job (but loving her as a mom). And like you, I too am very excited to introduce the tributes. I feel like I should be making tribute flashcards or something so I can remember all the details about every tribute .. Anyway, thank you so much for your very, very kind review, and I hope you enjoy the chapters to come! **

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**Jayce's Speech  
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**President Jayce, Jayce Estate**

President Jayce paced around her office, thoughts rushing in and out of her mind. It was the moment for her to address the entirety of Panem, and she was nervous. The cameras didn't scare her, nor did her conscious. It was something else. "I need to make an impact," she said in a distraught voice. "What if I don't make an impact? I want them…I want the families all around Panem to _feel _my anger."

The President's advisor, Phizz Ilkerson, stood at her doorway watching her. She looked stressed and disheveled, but this was nothing new to him. He was always good at restoring her sanity, for he always considered himself to be one of the President's most trusted friends. "You always make an impact, President," he said. "Trust me. I've heard you give this speech before. I've heard you give it—what?—_ten times _before. Panem fears you. They've been fearing you the past eleven months, knowing that the Hunger Games are always coming. You don't even need to say a word in front of those cameras; when they see that look in your eye…" He trailed off and walked into the room.

"I know, I know," she muttered, angry at herself for even letting her mind get the best of her. "It's just…you know how much I love the Hunger Games. So, you should know how much I want to do it right. Syrus and I have been talking about the plans for these games for a few days now, and…" She let her sentence die as she looked up at the vaulted ceiling of her office. There was a sparkle in her eye, Phizz noticed. And when he saw this, his lips curved up into a smile.

"You have high hopes for this year, don't you?" he asked. He loved to see the President excited about something. "I hope all goes well."

"As do I, Phizz. As do I…" Jayce stopped her pacing and looked at the her advisor directly. He was an average-sized man of average build. But what really stood out was his spiked blue hair that almost looked like a watery flame escaping his head. The President admired the Capitol's over-excessive glamour, yet she never indulged too much, herself. She pushed her own, blonde hair from her eyes and said, "Get the others. Get the cameras. Tell them I'm ready to go on TV."

Phizz smiled his usual over-excited smile and disappeared from the room. The President waited patiently for his return, running thoughts of hatred and anger through her mind to prepare herself for the fiery speech she wanted to give. _The people of Panem will lose what little bit of hope they had, today_, President Jayce thought. A smile graced her lips.

…

The cameras were on and the once near-desolate office became festooned with workers managing the lights, the sound, the cameras, and the script Jayce had prepared to read. Phizz stood next to her as stylists polished her suit and fiddled with her hair. "Good luck, President. The Capitol is rooting for you. And so is your son."

"No he's not," Jayce muttered. "He hates this part. He hates the games. You know that."

"Perhaps he will learn in time," Phizz whispered in her ear, winking at her.

"You're on in ten…nine…" A man counted down the seconds for the President. Stylists and interior decorators rushed from the cameras' viewpoints and let the President stand aloneg in front of her desk.

"Remember: impact," Phizz said to her as he, himself, disappeared from the scene. The President turned to the camera in front of her and waited. She had been waiting for this moment all year…

"…People of Panem…thank you for tuning in today for this message from the Capitol. I presume that by now you all know why I am speaking to you. Many of you have been dreading this day, no doubt, but I am here to remind you that you need not worry. I am here to comfort you in this time of need.

"Countless times I have heard that the Hunger Games are unfair, cruel, and unnecessary. But to this I remind you that the Hunger Games are what make this beautiful country the wonderful place that it is. But not just the Hunger Games…the people, all of you, make this country the place it is. And to that I offer my thanks in appreciation for what you all have done. In Panem we have luxury, we have masonry, we have electronics, we have fishing, we have power, we have transportation, we have lumber, we have textiles, we have grain, we have livestock, we have agriculture, we have coal, and we have nuclear technology. And without the people, Panem as we know it would have none of that. Thanks to you all—your parents, your sisters, your brothers, your children—we have turned ourselves from individual humans into the countless cogs of the perfect machine that we call home."

The President hesitated for just a second. "But builders and masons and factory workers and mariners and lumberjacks and farmers and miners and electricians and architects and engineers cannot work that perfect machine by themselves. No. They need a government. They need a Capitol. They need some semblance of _control _in their lives, or else nothing would get done and nothing would work. There would be so much disorder and confusion the whole country would fall apart in days!

"So, the country needs a Capitol. The country needs a loving government that will help it through its times of need. And that is exactly what we have here: a loving government. But two hundred and three years ago, someone got the idea to _betray _this loving government. And after a little bit of rallying, and after a little bit of convincing, that one person turned into an entire _army_. And then that _army _turned on the one thing that had ever shown it kindness and order: it turned on the Capitol.

"And now, in the streets today, we have people crying and whining and pouting about the _Capitol's_ harshness. We have people taking the Capitol's name in _vain_, like it's some sort of _curse_, because it was _their _great-great grandfather, or _their _great-great grandmother who turned on the Capitol in the first place! But then, when the Capitol wants to get backat its betrayers, it is considered tyranny!

"But that's not what this is. Oh, no. This is not tyranny. This is justice. This is justice for _every last _Peacekeeper who had to _die _at your ancestors' hands! This is the Capitol's way of saying you are not forgiven for your crimes! You are not forgiven for your betrayal of those who have shown you kindness! And you are not even forgiven…for seeking redemption. Because when the smoke clears, the people who have had their hearts and their spirits broken will _never _forget. They will never forget the friendship they offered to those they tried to love. And they will never forget the friendship that was shattered in front of them. And now, two hundred and three years later, that friendship is worthless. It exists no longer, and it shall never be restored. And neither will your children, who will fight to the _death _to try to make right the horrible things that you people have done. But their fight is in vain. They can fix something that is broken or wounded, but they can never fix something that doesn't want to be fixed.

"I hope dearly you have heard my words, and listened well. And I hope your children have, too; for if they are in these games, I hope they avoid doing exactly what you people did to lose the Capitol's trust. By the end of the Hunger Games, my goal is to teach your children that the consequence will always be worse than the betrayal.

"As I depart, I leave you with this: the Capitol trusted its people as its people should trust the Capitol. But that didn't happen. And for that very reason, I'm sorry to tell you that the 202nd Annual Hunger Games…have officially begun."

* * *

**Ooooh this is SO EXCITING! Next chapter will introduce the District 1 Tributes!**

**Anyways, I'd love to hear what you have to say about the intro to the games. Also, I'm very curious about how much your tributes reflect you (personality, romantic interests, appearance). I was thinking about it the other day, because I imagine it would be rather easy to get lost in your own life when posting about your tribute, right? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this matter, too.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**~PSULucky**


	5. District 1

**Hey, everyone! Finally, here's the first chapter of the whole introduce-the-tributes part of the story. Before we get this whole ball rolling, I just have a few little announcements of sorts to make. **

**One, there's still one open tribute slot remaining (District 11 Female). Thankfully, D11 is a long way off, so I don't really have to worry about pushing writing any chapters off. Just a reminder, though, that we're still down one tribute.**

**Two, there may be many scenes in these chapters that use italics. Of course, italics will be used for emphasis. Also, italics will be used for characters' thoughts or, most importantly, for flashbacks. So if you see a lot of italics (you'll probably figure this out anyway if you don't read this, I just figured I'd clear it up), you're probably reading a flashback. Character's thoughts are easy to identify because I'll usually say "he/she thought" and/or they will be written in first person. So yeah, a large bit of italics is a flashback.**

**Anyway, ON WITH THE HUNGER GAMES!**

**Slappinthebassmon: Yeah, President Jayce just might be one of those characters a lot of people like. And I liked what you said about her relationship with her son. It's intriguing that Cole doesn't like the Hunger Games, and also intriguing that Jayce still accepts him as her son despite their significant differences. Also, I haven't actually read a full SYOT, so I'm glad to hear that the Jayce/Cole relationship isn't cliched or anything. :) Thanks for the review!**

**x Falling Ashes x : THANK YOU! I am so happy about what you said that it made you think the Hunger Games were good. That, quite honestly, was one of the things I was hoping was going to come out of that chapter. :) So that pleased me very much. And thanks for answering my little extra question; so romantic interests are the same? Hmmmmm. Very interesting comparison to you and your tribute! Thanks for your review, as always.  
**

**T1nyDanc3r: Yep, Jayce and those lies. She loves those lies. Gotta love the Presidents who talk about the Hunger Games like they are the greatest thing. And yeah, Snow and Coin together sounds puh-ritty AWFUL. To be honest, I don't really remember what made Coin so bad (Snow sticks out in my mind A LOT), but she totally wasn't awesome, either. :/ Also, I liked your comparison to your tributes. I won't go into too much detail, for I don't want to give anything away, but I love seeing how tributes reflect their creators. Interesting, indeed. Thanks for the review!**

**ShootingforWishingStars: Haha, no worries, no worries! You always hold a special place in my heart for submitting the first tribute to my first SYOT EVER. So yeah, I'm glad you liked the speech. Flip a table? That'll make them remember you! But anyway, I think you were pretty spot on with what you said about Jayce loving her son despite his hate for the games. Also, VERY interesting about what you said about your similarities to your tribute. I like how you said he's who you WANT to be...that's something I haven't heard yet. Man, I love hearing what you guys have to say and then thinking about your tribute at the same time, hehe. Thanks for the review. PS, homework DOES suck. :((((**

**ghostleon: Ahh, welcome back! Good to see ya! Anyway, I'm glad you liked the intro and I really appreciate what you said about how you think it's defined the games. That makes me happy. :) Thanks for you review (and thanks for pointing out that strange mishaps with the cloning chapters, hehe).**

**BecauseofKillianJones: Your review was so flattering and nice! THANK YOU! I'm soooo appreciative of what you said, and I'm soooo happy you liked last chapter. Interesting flip-flop going on with your liking of the President, I see... Anyway, I can't wait to get on with the games and write about everyone's tributes (looks like your first tribute is coming up, hmmm?). Thanks for your review!  
**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, tasherekalb, for the District one female, and thank you, BecauseofKillianJones, for the District one male.**

* * *

**District 1**

* * *

**Mitsy "Mits" Sumo, age 18 (District 1 Female)**

The rain outside was beginning to pick up. As Mitsy tried to look out through the train windows at the dull afternoon sky, she saw spidery raindrops clinging to the glass and making big streaks that impeded her view of the outside world. But there was nothing outside she needed to see, anyway, she concluded. Mitsy stood up to stretch out, looking around her bed quarters as she did. Near the door to her train room she spotted a desk and a small, circular mirror. That mirror, she thought, might have been one of the last she would ever see…

The girl walked over to the reflective glass and merely looked at it. She saw herself staring back at her. She wanted to remember what she looked like before she would never get the chance to again.

Her deep blue eyes reflected the little bit of light that was in her room. Even amid her occasional weeping, she realized she still looked beautiful, as she always did. The games would never be able to change that. They would never be able to change her perfectly straight golden hair or her blood-red rosy lips.

As she stared into the mirror, she realized that everything happened so fast. One minute she was a typical eighteen year old girl living in district one, and in a matter of but a few hours her entire life flashed before her eyes. She remembered seeing the glass ball that held her name on countless slips of paper. She remembered seeing the looks on the other girls' faces as she trudged past them and onto the stage. And then she remembered talking to her brother for just a few minutes before she was whisked away and put onto the train…

"_I love you, Mitsy. And I want you to come home. You're the only family I got left," her older brother, George, told her. He took her by the shoulders with his strong hands and held her close. She didn't want him to let go._

She hated thinking about his final words to her. But they were true. She _was _his only family. As the train whipped past the outskirts of district one toward the Capitol, Mitsy was left alone with her thoughts. She was left alone with only the face of her brother to remind her of what home was like.

"_You can win these games," George had told her. "And then you can come back, and we can have _two _houses in the Victors' Village." _

Seven years past her brother had won the Hunger Games, at the young age of fourteen. Mitsy always admired him for that and looked up to him like the big brother he was. She loved him dearly, and for five long years was able to enjoy a life of luxury and safety with George and her little brother, Donnie. The three lived like a true good family should, and respected each other as three good-mannered siblings should.

But life, even in district one—the Capitol's _pet district_—was unfair. When Mitsy and Donnie were sixteen, the latter was reaped into the Hunger Games—the 200th Hunger Games, a vicious Quarter Quell. Fate wasn't on _his _side, however, as he suffered a tragic and fatal blow to the head by Summer Phalinx, the girl from district twelve.

_Summer Phalinx_, Mitsy thought. She hated that girl. She hated a lot of people, but she _especially_ hated Summer. And she hated district twelve for fostering such an unworthy, cruel, and detestable tribute. She knew poor Donnie, who hadn't even wanted to enter the Hunger Games, didn't deserve such a horrid death. So when a spear was shoved through Summer's heart by a strong career the very night she killed Donnie, the rush of sadistic pleasure Mitsy felt as she watched the TV demonstrated precisely what true revenge felt like. _I hate you, Summer Phalinx_.

A tear began to form in Mitsy's eye as she recollected her past. For being a girl from district one, she felt she deserved a better life. Was it fair that she, along with both of her siblings, had gotten chosen for the Hunger Games? It didn't seem like a coincidence, but she wanted to think it was. She wanted to think that the Hunger Games were in no way rigged. She wanted to think she just lived the unluckiest life a person could possibly live.

But despite her misfortunes, she knew she could win the Hunger Games. She was strong, no doubt, as all careers were. She had trained for the games and knew it was easy for her to become violent very quickly. She held little compassion in her heart for those who wronged her, and saw nothing wrong with turning nasty very quickly. But at the same time, Mitsy knew she'd need to watch herself. She was taller and lankier than most career girls, making her look less the type of a career and more the type of a normal tribute—a good victim. She couldn't tell if this false belief that she was weak would come in handy, or just make her a good target.

Mitsy sauntered to her bed and sat down, holding and rubbing her temples as she did. She was trying to clear her mind, but the more she tried to relax, the more her memories fought to emerge. Mitsy looked at the photo that sat next to her bed on the table. It was a picture of her mother and her brothers and her. She loved that picture. It was one of the few pictures she had where everyone in her family looked genuinely happy. And…it was one of the few where her dad was not present…

Her dad…

More memories came fleeting back into her mind. She tried to shut them out, but they infested her brain like a virus that was searching for something to infect. The more she thought of her dad, the more angry at the world she became, and the more unfair she thought her life was. She thought of her mother screaming and crying on the ground in pain and agony, and of her cruel father standing above the woman with bloody fists. That was the last Mitsy remembered of her mother before her father's work was done.

_Mitsy stood from behind the protection of the kitchen doorway, tears rushing down her eyes. She saw the crazed look in her father's eyes, and the bloodied woman who lay dead merely ten feet from where she stood weeping. _

_Revenge. It was revenge she felt that night. And as if some unseen and unfelt force was telling her what to do, Mitsy picked up the stainless steel butcher's knife in the kitchen. She found her insane and pathetic father above her mother's body, and as she looked in his eyes, she understood what hate truly was. She understood what it was like to loathe a person so much that the only cure for this hatred would be the death of that person. _

_At only ten years old, Mitsy got the most realistic Hunger Games training she could have possibly asked for: she killed someone._

Mitsy made a face as she recollected her most terrible, yet most invigorating and intriguing memory. The train ride to the Capitol really was, for her, a train-wreck of memories. It was as though a vault of her most unwanted and horrible thoughts had been opened and left to roam and torture her mind. Did the Hunger Games really do this to a person? Did it bring out the worst memories in people and remind them of everything that was wrong in their lives?

Mitsy hated that feeling. But still, even after all of the thinking she had done, something was still trying to get out. A memory—a recent one—was bothering her: the reapings. In her mind, she could see herself that morning from a bird's eye view. She could see the girl who was going to get picked to be the district one tribute.

"_Mitsy Sumo…" the female escort read in a slow, dramatic voice. The Capitol's video cameras whirled around the group of girls until it found the one in question. She was easy to spot, too._

"_No!" Mitsy yelled, running off in the direction opposite the stage. Several Peacekeepers rushed after her, and after a few moments the chase was over. The girl was caught, turned around, and led back to the stage. Past the other girls she walked, her head hung low and horrid thoughts running through her mind. Why her? Why not any of the other girls? Why?! _

Mitsy's face turned to one of anger. She hated those Peacekeepers. If she ever made it back to district one, she'd remember to detest those Peacekeepers who dragged her onstage. She _hated _them.

"_Don't volunteer, Ryan!" Mitsy yelled. The cameras panned to a short, dark-haired eighteen year old huddled in the group of males: Ryan James. "Please, don't volunteer!" Her heart was rushing as she was onstage. She didn't care if the Capitol was seeing her outburst on the cameras. "When I win, I need you to come home to!"_

Ryan didn't volunteer. For that, Mitsy was grateful. She couldn't lose Ryan, her friend. No, he was more than her friend. He was her boyfriend of three years. _I will marry him_, Mitsy decided. _He is still alive. And I will win. I will come home to him. _Mitsy knew she _needed _Ryan. She needed him as a friend and as the love of her life. And, she also knew her unborn baby needed him as a father, as well…

**Maxwell "Max" Floyd, age 18 (District 1 Male)**

There was something odd. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but Maxwell Floyd, the boy from district one, knew there was something unusual about this year's games. _I feel…alone_, he thought. He sat by himself in the middle of the dining car at a table that could fit four. This just reminded him how alone he truly was. The train was so vacated, he acknowledged. Save for Mitsy, with whom he hadn't spoken even after the two had been reaped, he hadn't seen a single soul on that train. _How strange_.

And then it hit him. Wasn't there supposed to be an escort with them? The woman who had managed the reapings? Who had called out the names? And what about a mentor? As far as he could remember, a past winner from district one was supposed to accompany the tributes as their mentor. But…when he and Mitsy were brutishly led onto the train, there was no escort or mentor. There was no one…

"That's not very fair," Maxwell muttered, realizing the severe disadvantage the tributes of this year's Hunger Games would be at if they had no mentors. He ran his big hands through his short, curly, brown hair and sighed, thinking. _That's really weird_, he thought. For a moment he pondered this, but then he let the notion die away. He didn't know what was going on, but worrying about something he didn't comprehend wasn't going to do any good.

Besides, he needed to focus on the Hunger Games. He knew had a bloodlust that only the Hunger Games could quell. Moreover, he knew he was physically and mentally ready, and he was eager to show the games what he was made of. He was a true warrior, in his opinion. He was tall and strong, and equally as important, he was fast. He could run down an opponent in seconds and finish them off with a single swipe with a sword or with a few merciless punches from his strong fists.

Max relaxed with a bountiful banquet of food and delicacies by his side. He was quite hungry, for everything that had gone on that day left him tired and with an empty stomach. As he ate the Capitol's finest foods, he found his eyes scanning the large television at the far end of the dining car. The TV was showing the reapings in some other district, but he wasn't really watching. He found himself thinking…

He _needed _the Hunger Games. For a second he wondered if he always did, but now, after all he had been through in his life, the Hunger Games were all he had. They were all he had left to prove that his life still meant something. They were the only thing that filled the dark, empty void in his heart…

Before Max could let his thoughts overtake him, he was snapped out of his trance at the sound of the dining car's sliding door open. It was Mitsy. "Hey, Mitsy," Max said in a calm tone. He knew it couldn't hurt to start befriending his first ally. "Care to join me?" He pulled out a seat at his table for her and jokingly winked.

"Oh, please," Mitsy mumbled, rolling her eyes and approaching his table. "I'm not that superficial."

The boy looked confused. "What?"

Mitsy pulled out her own seat, the one farthest from his, and sat. "Save your winking for the other girls," she said flatly. She ran her straight golden hair through her fingers and pushed it around so it slightly hid her face.

"I was joking," Max said, chuckling a little bit. He had a deep voice that resonated throughout the entire room; Mitsy's was quieter and sharper. Max picked up his glass of water and twirled it around in his hand, humming a little tune at the same time. "Anyway," he said, "do we have a mentor? Or an escort? 'Cause I'm pretty sure…we have neither." He bit his lip and squinted his eyes.

"Well, no one got on the train with us," Mitsy noted, glaring into his dark brown eyes. She sounded so serious and angry that Max almost didn't want to mess with her anymore. But still, he knew it was imperative for a tribute to ally with the other person from their district. The Capitol loved nothing more than a good career alliance.

Max poked Mitsy's arm with a spoon. "Don't look so sad," he said, making a frown, trying to imitate the perpetual glower on Mitsy's face. The girl pushed his arm away with a scowl. Max just laughed at himself. "Look," he said, pointing to the TV at the far end of the room. "Look at those tributes. Me and you, we can take them. You any good at fighting?"

"I'm good at a lot of things," she said. "But, I don't think it'd be in my best interest to divulge all of my skills to…you." She looked at him accusingly, holding the arm he had poked with the spoon. Max rose in eyebrows in disappointed shock.

"Well, well, well…" he said, smirking. He wasn't angry. He knew Mitsy was just stubborn and probably a little sad. He understood that she didn't want to be there. "C'mon, you know how much the Capitol loves it when a district one tribute wins. We can team up," he offered. "I'll protect you. You're a nice girl, really. You just gotta cheer up a little bit, I think."

Mitsy just made a disgusted noise and twisted her face up. She pushed herself slightly away from the table and shook her head. "I'm not interested," she said. "I don't want to date you. I don't want to turn this thing into a cute little spiel to get sponsors. I'm not gonna fall for you and pretend I'm the girl who got her heart stolen by the dashing young man from district one." She hid her eyes from him again and took a quick sip from her water glass.

"You…you think I'm dashing?" Max asked.

"_That's not what I said!_" the girl yelled, raising her voice.

Max could tell he wasn't amusing her. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Forgive me?"

Mitsy just shook her head, not saying anything. She forcibly grabbed the empty plate near her, indignantly walked to the buffet bar to fill her food, and then plopped herself back down on her seat. Max watched her with slight awe and confusion.

"I think you're being a _little _stubborn."

The girl lifted her head at him. "I think you're being a _little_ stupid."

Max looked slightly taken aback. "I guess you don't want to be friends, then," he concluded. He sounded much more serious that time.

"That's fine by me."

"Fine," Max said, nodding. Mitsy stood up and began to walk toward the door. "Really?" Max asked. "You're gonna leave? What was the point of this? You didn't even eat anything yet. You came all the way here and put all that food on your plate to just walk away?"

"I was hungry," she snapped. "_Was _hungry. But you disgust me." She waited at the door for his response.

Now Max stood up. "Well, if you want to talk, you know where to find me. Trust me, I won't 'hit on you' again." He walked past Mitsy, and when he reached the door, he turned around and said, "You just need to chill out. Take a breather. Get some sleep." He held the door open for her, and she trudged out, muttering a quick "thanks" as she did.

Mitsy disappeared down the hall as Max just waited, sighing, at the door. He wasn't even hungry anymore, he concluded. He was just tired. He needed to get some sleep, and soon; because, in but a few days, the concept of sleep would just feel like a pastime.

As he entered his room, his mind was gushing with thoughts about Mitsy. What had he done to anger the girl so much? He didn't normally have that kind of effect on girls, he knew; he wasn't used to being shut out like that. The more he thought about her, the more he realized he hated her. He kicked over the nightstand next to his bed, fuming. It came down crashing hard and loudly. He hoped Mitsy heard that. He wanted her to know how angry he was, and he wanted her to know how dumb he felt for ever believing in her. _Mitsy will never be that girl_,he thought.

All Max wanted was a friend and an ally, and someone with whom he could train and talk and laugh with. He wanted someone who wasn't so serious. He wanted someone who could understand him. He _needed_ someone who could fill his emptiness.

But the only person who could have done that was dead.

* * *

**Huzzah! District one is complete! This chapter certainly leaves some loose ends to be figured out.  
**

**Anyway, I would love to hear what you guys thought! I really, really didn't want to go for the typical reaping chapter, so I decided to change it up a little bit and start it out on the train. That way, I could highlight important things through flashbacks and get the character's started on the relationships with other tributes.**

**But yeah, that was a surprisingly fun chapter to write. I'm really enjoying this! Thank you all for making such interesting tributes!**


	6. District 2

**Hey everyone! Here's part two of the tribute chapters, which introduces the next two careers. I'm trying to update as quickly as I can (so far I've been doing pretty well, hehe).**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter!**

**ghostleon: Thanks! I'm glad you approve of my method of introducing the tributes. I was hoping to make it seem a little less mechanical that way (and also it would be a lot easier to widen the tributes' personalities and histories, I think). So, I'm glad you liked it! Thanks for the review, good sir/madame!**

**tasherekalb: Oh good good good! I'm happy you liked Mitsy! Hehe, yeah, Mitsy kinda has that tendency to be all cold and shy, but as you know she's not so angry for no reason. Her character should be fun to write, and I can't wait to see how she transforms over the course of the fic. Thanks for your review (and wow! all of your tributes are D1 or D2, haha!)!**

**x Falling Ashes x : Thanks for your review, FallingAshes. I like how you wrote that review, what with all the predictions and whatnot. Being pregnant WILL suck, lol! And yeah, it looks like the first 2 tributes didn't really get off to a good start, so we'll have to see what happens with them. Anyway, yeah, D14 does seem pretty far off. BUT I'm trying to keep myself on a schedule, so hopefully it'll get here sooner than we think. ;) Thanks for the review!**

**BecauseofKillianJones: First, I'm glad you like this whole introduction method. I was kinda worried it'd seem too different. But I think it's good, so it'll stay :). I liked what you said about Mitsy and Max (your tribute! =o), too. Hmmm Max is such an interesting character...honestly, I can't wait to-ahem-I won't give anything away, but as you know, he's CERTAINLY not a one-dimensional character. I'm glad you liked it and thanks for your review!**

**ShootingforWishingStars: Hahaha, your reviews always make me laugh. They're always so...emphatic and seem to have so much emotion in them, even though they're just reviews for my fan fic. Anyway, yeah, Mitsy IS pretty pregnant (and that's good question, that whole protection thing. I guess not, lol...at least President Jayce doesn't, hehe). Yup, loved your review :) Loved that whole double-post thing (STUPID POST BUTTON!), and, yes, you may hug Max. Thanks again!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, tasherekalb, for the District 2 female and the District 2 male.**

* * *

**District 2  
**

* * *

**Rose "Row" Trummer, age 17 (District 2 Female)**

Rose loved the Hunger Games. She loved everything about them. She loved that she got the chance to show off her strength and prove herself to everyone watching. And she loved the Capitol for creating the games. That morning, as she sat watching President Jayce's speech, she realized exactly what it was she was destined to do. She realized she was getting old—almost too old—and in but two years would never be able to do the thing she wanted to do most: be a career from district two.

"_Let us select the female tribute," the escort said, her lips puckered. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled her hand out of the glass sphere of names and read, "Opal Rensly." Rose recognized her as the young girl from her neighborhood; she wouldn't have made even half a good career._

_Before Opal could take a step, Rose shouted, "I volunteer! I volunteer to take the place of Opal Rensly!" The Capitol's cameras scanned Rose's face up and down, and all the girls and boys standing in front of the stage whispered things amongst themselves about the unseen turn of events._

"_You wish to take the place of Opal Rensly?" the escort clarified._

"_I do," Rose said, her face unmoved and uncaring. She didn't hold an ounce of regret._

But as she sat thinking on the train, listening to the violent downpour outside, she knew she held _much_ more than an ounce of regret. Volunteering for the Hunger Games was the one and only thing she wished she could take back in her life. If only she had been less reckless and spontaneous, she could have convinced herself to wait another year. To wait until she was eighteen and stronger. And…to wait until the circumstances were better.

Rose muttered something angrily under her breath. It wasn't fair. She wanted to play the Hunger Games _her _way. Rose removed a small dagger from a sheath on her boot and fiddled with it. She stabbed the air a few times, messing with the dagger's trajectory. She was a master wielder, having trained with a knife for almost half of her life. She preferred a knife because it was small and easy to conceal, yet contained deadly possibilities.

Rose watched as the light in her room reflected off the hilt of the blade. She saw herself in its reflection; she looked so angry. Her gray eyes looked even grayer and darker and more devoid of life than they usually did, and her short, small face was one of pure irritation and frustration.

The girl stabbed at the air once more and then returned the dagger to its sheath. She ruffled her curly brown hair, shook her head a few times to clear herself of her thoughts, and headed for the door. She was going to look for the boy from her district; she was going to look for her brother.

**Spider "Spide" Trummer, age 12 (District 2 Male)**

"Hey, Spider, you in there?"

There was a knocking at his door: it was Rose. Spider picked himself off his bed and opened the door. "Hey, Row." His sister looked quite depressed; it was no wonder why. Spider hated to see her that way. He hated that they would have to go into the Hunger Games as a duo, and return…as one. Or worse, none.

"_Hmhmhmm…now, let us select the male tribute." Again, the escort's hand dipped into the bowl of countless names, turning the slips of paper over in her hand until she grasped one and only one. Rose stood off to the escort's side, smiling pridefully as thoughts of what this year's Hunger Games was going to be like rushed into her mind. In just a few short weeks, she would be back home, with fans cheering her name and the people of District two rejoicing in her success. Cowards would shiver as she walked by, and even those who thought themselves strong and brave would bow down to her as though she were a god._

"_Spider Trummer," the escort read. The silence was deafening. Those who pieced two and two together looked shocked and mournful. The escort continued smiling her happy, naive smile until she heard Rose mutter something under her breath. And then, as the realization began to hit her, the escort said briskly, "Oh! Well, that certainly puts an interesting spin on things."_

_Spider was reluctant to go onstage. He wanted to be in the Hunger Games. He wanted to be in the Hunger Games so badly. But not like this. He couldn't do this to Rose. He and his sister were best friends. But much to his dismay, no one else volunteered that day._

"Let's get something to eat," Rose suggested. "Clear our minds, you know?" She tried to look happy, but the inflections and sadness in her voice proved she felt otherwise. But Spider didn't complain; he was hungry and had spent enough time cooped up in his room thinking about how unfortunate their situation was. He decided to lead the way.

"Wait," his sister said to him. She wanted to walk by his side. She put her arm around his shoulder with one arm and messed up his dirty blonde hair with the other. He squirmed and grimaced and pulled his head away quickly. She knew he hated that, but at the same time she knew he loved it, since she was the only person in the world who would do that. The two of them would miss the simple things like that.

The dining room was, unsurprisingly, empty. Spider and Rose filled up their plates with the Capitol's best food and found a seat. As they sat down, Spider knew that something was praying on his mind; he just needed to vocalize it. "Look," he said quickly. "There's gotta be a way we can both win. I mean…"

"I know, I know," Rose cut in. "We'll figure something out. But I'll never kill you." She grabbed his shoulder and held him firm for a moment. She looked into his green, mystifying eyes and said, "I will _never _kill you, Spide."

Her little brother looked down at his plate, doing anything to shift his glance from his sister. He didn't want to look at her. Just looking at her gave him an unfriendly reminder. "This is so stupid," he said. "This isn't fair." He looked back up at her with determination on his face. "I'll kill everyone in that arena. I don't care. But…I can't kill you, either." His voice was sharp and strained. "But I'm telling you, I'll kill anyone to protect you. I promise."

Rose smiled at him. She loved his passion and drive. "Me too," she said. "But…" She looked a little more concerned. "Don't get too hasty. I mean, there are gonna be a lot of other strong people, you know. I…don't want to see you be reckless. Remember you training. _Please_…"

"Oh, don't worry, Row," Spider said. "I got this. Those other tributes have _nothing _on me. I've been practicing hard. Look." He pulled out his own knife from the sheath on his boot and demonstrated a few of his latest tactical maneuvers. He wasn't too handy with a small blade, but if he got his hands on a sword, he claimed he'd "stab someone so hard they'd beg me to push the sword all the way through!"

"I know you're strong," Rose admitted, "and good with swords and fist-fighting and all that, but _still_." She looked at her little brother. He was tall for his age—almost five foot five, about two inches shorter than she was—and stronger than any boy of twelve she knew. But still, he was only _twelve_. He'd still look like a little kid next to an eighteen year old career. "You gotta watch your back. Someone who's stronger—"

" 'Stronger'?" Spider repeated. "Row, I've beaten other, older kids in practice all the time. They're wimps. I don't get scared. Sure, I'm as old as the other tributes, but at least I'm not a coward. I'm not afraid of dying, 'cause I know that death is for the _weak_."

"I'm just warning you, Spide."

Spider shrugged. "I heard you." Had he wanted to debate with his sister, he would have reminded her that she was prone to getting over-confident. She liked to fight dirty, and she liked to get dirty. But what Rose often failed to realize was that even though she was very much a tomboy and did show great promise in practice, her fighting skills were a little lacking and she wasn't as physically muscular as other career girls. At training in district two, she had a lot of experience fighting with the weaker, younger girls, but that was all. She had a talent for knife fighting (and often compared herself to the strongest male tributes), but, as much as Spider didn't want to believe it was true, he knew the other career girls would give her a run for her money. "You be careful, too," was all he said.

For a moment the two remained silent. Over their silence, the nearly muted TV became much more clear. Spider turned around in his seat to see what program the Capitol was showing. "Look, Row, it's the reapings."

"A recap," she said. "It's almost over."

"I wanna watch," her brother said determinedly. "Can we rewind? I wanna see the whole thing. I wanna spy on my prey."

Rose laughed a little bit. "That's true. I'd like to see this year's round-up, myself." The two found the television's remote and resumed the program from the start. The Capitol's seal introduced the reapings, followed by a landscape shot of district one. Then, they were zoomed in to the district plaza and shown the gathering of boys and girls. Onstage stood the escort and several Peacekeepers.

The district one girl was called up.

"Look at that," Rose said, holding in her laughter. Mitsy was shown sprinting from the Peacekeepers and getting captured a few seconds later. "Are you serious? She didn't want to get reaped? That is honestly the most embarrassing thing…"

Spider looked on in awe. "And did you see her run? Row, you could run faster than that when you _started _training, I think." Rose rewound to show Mitsy running from the stage and muttered something again about how shameful the girl looked. Then, Spider said, "What you gotta do is chase her and run just a _little _bit slower than her, so she thinks she's gonna get away. Then—bam!—stab her while she's gasping for breath after running about…twenty feet."

"Better yet," Rose suggested, "I'll have her chase _me_. I'll stay a little bit in front of her, and then—get this—tire her out, but stay close enough so she's thinkin' that 'oh, maybe I'll catch up'. And then she'll get so tired, and I'll just kill her 'cause she'll have no energy."

The two laughed at themselves for a little while and then watched the male from district one get called.

"That's precious," Rose said sarcastically. "Look at the _chemistry _between him and the girl tribute!"

"That's worth a lot of sponsors there. Wow, she just _looked_ at him. So romantic! She's biting her lip and he looks like he's ready to fall asleep. The Capitol must be loving that! Lotsa parachutes for them!" Spider jested.

Rose shook her head in complete awe; were these the tributes they'd be fighting? It seemed like a joke. After watching the district one reapings, she was ready to concede that she and Spider would be the most dangerous tributes in the arena.

The program then switched to the district two reapings. For a moment an awkward silence enveloped the dining car, for both Spider and Rose were at a loss for words. But the female quickly fast-forwarded through their part, her eyes trying to look away from the rapidly changing pictures. She did manage to see, for but a split second, the look on her and her brother's face when he was reaped. The Capitol must've spent a lot of time focused on their reaction, because even fast-forwarded, watching their faces seemed to last a lifetime.

And then came district three.

"Well, she's gonna be a bloodbath tribute," Spider muttered.

"Look at her face," Rose said. "She's trying to keep such a straight face, but she is _totally _freaking out. You can tell."

The district three boy was revealed next.

"Are you serious?" Spider asked. "Did he…"

"Sing?" Rose finished his question. She burst into laughter, almost coughing up the water she was trying to drink. "He did!" she exclaimed, rewinding the show just to make sure. "Some inspirational little tune."

"I'd like to shut that kid up. He's probably just gonna cry for mommy and daddy an hour into the games." Spider looked angry, but also amused. Seeing the other tributes seemed to be a phenomenal ego-booster.

"He's probably crying right _now_."

Spider sniggered. "True."

"Honestly," Rose began, "these reapings are just making the Capitol look kinda stupid, actually. I mean, look at these tributes. Half of them probably can't even pick up a sword. Wasn't there a time when the Capitol put _good _tributes into the Hunger Games?" She thought it was like the Capitol was trying to _hand_ district two the win, or something.

"Okay, you can take the girl, and I'll take this kid," Spider said. He messed around with his dinner knife for a little while. Rose could tell he was getting frustrated; Spider didn't like weak people, nor did he like having to fight weak people. They were so below him that he took it as an insult to waste time killing them. Such unworthy tributes were reaped that day, he thought.

The remainder of the afternoon seemed to fly by. Spider and his sister enjoyed themselves to deluxe dining and watching the rest of the reapings, which they later referred to as a comedy show. Although they admitted that some of the tributes looked like they meant business, Rose's confidence that she was stronger than they were and Spider's muttering about how everyone looked too pathetic kept the brother and sister duo unmoved.

That night, after Rose had gone off to bed, Spider found it difficult to sleep. It had been raining all day and was only beginning to clear up that night, but it wasn't the sound of the storm outside that kept him from drifting off to some much needed sleep. No, he was too excited; he thought of himself striking down all of the tributes who got in his way and fighting alongside his sister with a sword in his hand. He saw himself dubbed the strongest and scariest tribute to ever set foot in an arena, and he saw, somehow, both himself _and _his sister living in Victors' Village in the biggest house there. Then, they could mentors for the rest of the Hunger Games to come, and be able to relive the greatest moments of their lives through the eyes of the tributes they would train. Spider needed Rose, though. And so did Travors…her one year old son.

_I wonder what mom and dad are thinking_. He wondered if they were angry at Rose for volunteering when he, too, was going to get reaped. But could they blame Rose for something unforeseeable? Or, perhaps they had thought it unwise of her to risk the abandonment of her very young son? What would happen to Travors if she died? What would happen to Travors, more importantly, if they _both _died? Their mother would love to raise her grandson, no doubt, but their father was always so angry and cruel, and always butted heads with Rose. Spider knew his father had the same hatred reserved for Travors, too. Sometimes, Spider wondered how Rose hadn't murdered their father yet. She hated him, he hated her, she had a tendency to do something rash, and she always had a knife in the sheath of her boot.

But Spider didn't want to believe that was possible, for, despite its problems, his family was one of the wealthiest families and lived in one of the biggest houses in the district. They were so lucky. They always had food. He and his sister had their own training facility built beneath their house, which was stockpiled with more weapons anyone could ever dream of. And besides, their angry father wasn't around often, as he was constantly at work managing his factory. Only their countless servants and their mother, Anne-Marie, who loved Rose every way their father didn't, kept them company throughout the day. They really did live a good life…it was almost a _perfect_ life.

But perfection isn't easy to acquire.

And once again, Spider found himself thinking about the one thought he had forced out of his mind time and time again: he and his sister were in the Hunger Games, but only one person could survive.

* * *

**I guess it kinda sucks when you volunteer, only to have your brother get reaped two seconds later. Yeah, that could be a problem. Anyway, I'd love to hear what you guys think about these VERY interesting tributes. Also, now that 4/6 of the careers (4/8 if you count the district fourteen tributes), I was wondering which career you think stands the best chance of winning it (or will at least make it the furthest). I have my opinion-oh wait, I'm the author-but yeah.**

**Thanks for reading, and fingers crossed for a quick update!**


	7. District 3

**Howdy guys! I'm back with a thankfully quick update. Here's the D3 tributes...only 11 more of these to go!**  
** I felt this was a very interesting chapter that well...you shall see.  
**

**BecauseofKillian: oooh, nice! I like the rankings you gave to the tributes! I liked your analyzing of the D2 tributes...indeed, they are a little snooty. And yeah, they think they're tough stuff right now. Mitsy will probably have some problems, no doubt, and it's pretty understandable about the other 3. Anyway, I imagine you are eagerly waiting for the next chapter, so I won't waste another minute! I'll try to get it done as quickly as possible and make it as good as I possibly can! Thanks for the review!**

**jaffacakesyumm: Very interesting review. I liked your interpretations of the characters and whatnot. Mitsy probably IS the dark horse right now when it comes to careers. I also LOVED your supposition about Max. I like when my readers try to predict things like that. Anyway, I believe it's your time to shine this chapter, right? Thanks for the review! It is always very appreciated!**

**SummerWillowSkye: Thank you so much for not only taking the time to review, but also READ. I imagine most people who don't have a tribute in an SYOT wouldn't read one, so thank you soooo much for your review. I'm happy you liked it and I'm glad you found the fic!**

**CelesteIzaFanLolz: Thank you! New reader alert! Thank you for your review! Sorry you missed out on the tribute submissions, but I hope you enjoy the story nonetheless. Also, I'm glad you liked the tribute I submitted. ;) Thanks for the review!**

**ghostleon: Hmmmhmmmhmmm...making for some mystery, are we? Still pondering opinions thus far? Waiting for the other careers to show? I liked your review and I can't wait to see how the tributes change in your eyes by watching them. Thanks for the review!**

**x FallingAshes x : I really liked your predictions. It's understandable that once one them dies, the other may SNAP. We'll see what happens, though...I also liked the simple characteristics you wrote for each tribute. That pretty much sums it up (at least right now), and I like the interesting choice of your making Max the current "winner", if that's what I should call it. Thanks for your review! (and let's hope for more quick chapters!)**

**T1nyDanc3r: Yep, those tributes from two can be pretty rash. I liked the balance between their characters, though. Kudos to their creator for putting them into such an interesting predicament! Anyway, thanks a ton for your review!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, Storycake, for the district three female, and thank you, jaffacakesyumm, for the district three male.**

* * *

**District 3  
**

* * *

**Clyde Grey, age 15 (District 3 Female)**

She couldn't take it anymore. She needed someone to talk to. The monotonous sound of the train rolling along its tracks should've soothed her, but it only reminded her of the lessening distance between her and the Capitol. And the closer she was to the Capitol, the closer she was to the Hunger Games. Those games…they made her sick.

Clyde just wanted someone by her side. In a game all about death, it was imperative to find someone you could share your last moments with. She couldn't die alone…and she couldn't die paranoid. She knew that was what the Capitol wanted. It was what they strived for. She herself realized that very morning that the President's speech not only officially announced the start of the Hunger Games, but also held symbolic value, as well. Trust, President Jayce implied, was what all tributes needed.

Clyde didn't need to hear that from Jayce, though. She only needed her own mind to know that being by herself in the Hunger Games would lead to loneliness, paranoia, and eventual death. And when that death came, there would be no one who cared…

Clyde was thankful that she knew just the person to talk to.

**Mario Belvasie, age 16 (District 3 Male)**

Only moments ago Clyde had knocked on his door and invited him to dinner. She disappeared without a trace after that, no doubt waiting for him in the dining car. Mario was excited to meet her. He was always excited to meet friendly people, and from what he could tell, Clyde seemed both amiable and intelligent.

Before he set off to dinner, he checked himself all over in the mirror once. Mario had dark brown eyes and slightly tanned skin, and short, shaggy, brown hair, which he was brushing until it looked just right. Then he nodded to himself and said, "Time for dinner!"

Mario entered the dining car with a skip and a hop. He had boundless amounts of energy that even the reapings couldn't stifle. He was humming a little tune and grinning to himself all the while. Clyde could only smile at this as he came in. "Someone's hyper," she acknowledged. The girl sat nicely dressed, as though this were a business meeting or something of grand importance. She wanted to look good and make an impression. Her strawberry blonde hair was straightened and left to hang down to her shoulders, but was unadorned with bows or flowers so as to highlight her pale skin and midnight blue eyes.

Mario didn't hear her comment as he approached the table. "My, what fine dining this is!" He looked around the luxurious room and at the heaps of delectable food that crowded the buffet table. "I feel like I'm part of the Capitol. This is the kind of stuff they eat everyday there, you know."

Clyde nodded to him. "Ready to eat?" the girl asked.

Mario replied in the affirmative and took a plate. Clyde stood up, watching him with a discerning eye, and walked over to his side. She was analyzing whether he was the ideal person she wanted to ally with in the games. He was funny and optimistic, no doubt, but he had no recognizable physical prowess. Standing next to him, Clyde acknowledged the significant size difference there was between them. She was a few inches taller than he was (and _she _wasn't even very tall). Likewise, Mario was skinny and not very well built, whereas Clyde, though not overweight, was slightly plump and may very well have been stronger than he was.

Each time Mario took an item of food from the buffet table, he offered to put one on Clyde's plate, as well. "But they're _goooood!_" he would say whenever she rejected his offer. All the while, Clyde was smiling; she liked him already. For that matter, she had liked him the instant she saw him get reaped. He had such an exuberant personality that she felt was critical for taking away the stress and the hysteria of the Hunger Games.

"_And for the district three male we have…Mario Belvasie!"_

_The boy who had been called didn't look fazed in the least. He smiled a charming smile (directly into the cameras, no less), and walked proudly onto the stage. All the while, he jubilantly sang, "And always look on the bri-ight side…of life!" The boys and girls and even the escorts and mentors onstage couldn't help but laugh at the mockery he was making of the games._

_And Clyde, who had accepted her reaping with anger, frustration, fear, and sadness, chuckled herself. He made her smile for the first time that morning."Always look on the bri-ight side…of life!"_

"I liked your little performance earlier today," the girl said as she returned to the table.

Mario jokingly bowed to her, balancing his plate dangerously in one hand as he did. "Thank you, thank you. Maybe that'll help me get sponsors? Maybe they'll look at me and say, 'Hey! We want to hear that boy sing again! We can't let him die yet! Let's give him a water bottle!' " He made over-exaggerated hand motions as he spoke, and made his voice sound significantly deeper when he tried to sound like the sponsors.

"You're silly," Clyde said. She gave him a calculating look and found herself staring deep into his brown, energetic eyes. She was lost in the consideration of whether she should make him her alliance partner. She mentally admitted that it _was_ hard to say she didn't want to ally with him. Even if he wasn't the ideal tribute—one with masculine brawn and a fearless attitude—she respected everything he did and said and realized that it was better to die next to a friend than next to the person she was just using to kill off the other tributes for her. "You know, I hate to make such a quick decision but…I think I definitely want to ally with you in the games."

Mario looked flattered. He pointed at himself as though asking, "Me?", and when Clyde nodded, a big, shocked smile spread across his face. "Good! Yes! I'm not much of a fighter, but…I'm good for _something_. I promise!"

"I bet you are," Clyde said. She herself knew he was good for a lot of things, even if just for keeping up her morale. She looked at him again, watching as he brushed his brown hair. "But you're from district three," she began, "like me, so you must be pretty good with electronics, right?"

Mario nodded his head excitedly. "Oh, of course! I love technology and all that. It's my hobby, really. I've been getting better at bomb-building recently, too. Kinda. I mean, I know how they work and all—all their parts and everything—and my dad has been teaching me how to build them, so…yeah, I guess that could be pretty important, right?"

"Yeah," Clyde admitted. "I don't know much about bombs, but I know how a lot of things work. Electronics and all. If there's anything electronic in the arena, I should _definitely _be able to reconfigure it, or something!" Clyde looked determined and headstrong. Mario listened attentively, nodding and smiling all the while. He couldn't have asked for anyone better than Clyde to ally with, he thought.

"Oh, there _will _be _a lot_ of electronic things in the arena," he said with confident assurance. "I know it! My dad works for the Hunger Games. I've seen some of the things he's built. Animals…plants…a lot of them actually are electronic. You should see the storm generator," Mario continued, his eyes wide like a little boy's. "It's amazing! All of the rain and snow and all that…my dad and my mom built that."

"Really?" Clyde asked, thoroughly intrigued. She leaned in a little closer toward him and asked, "So…no offense, but don't you kind of have an unfair advantage over the other tributes? I mean…not that I'm complaining or anything."

"Oh, I don't mind," he said. "You see, once I turned twelve, the Capitol informed my parents that they could no longer show me any of their 'special' electronics."

"'Special?' " Clyde repeated.

"Yeah." Mario nodded. "There are some things in the Hunger Games I'm not aloud to see. The storm generator? Yes, I can see that! Because what's the difference? It's not like I can change anything or do anything about it if I'm in the arena. The storm generator, my dad said, is located in the game-makers' control room. So I'm aloud to know about that, 'cause it wouldn't make any difference if I knew about it or not. But the toxic plants and bugs they've built specifically for the games…I'm not aloud to hear about those. 'Cause, you know, it _would _be a little unfair."

Clyde's interest was piqued. She was learning more about the games than she could have ever hoped. The storm generator…the electronic animals and whatnot…she wondered just how much of the arena was electronically created, anyway. She listened to him in awe and wonderment. "So, your parents like…work directly for the Capitol?"

"Oh, yes!" Mario said. "The Capitol _needs _my parents, really. I mean, my parents have been the main electronics makers for the last fifteen Hunger Games! I've even been to the Capitol before, actually. It's nice there…it's very nice. The food…oh, it's so good! You see, I usually go with my dad on his business trips. I wish all of Panem could be as fortunate as the Captiol…"

Clyde was looking down at her plate, thinking about his words. The Capitol's people…they were so blind to the problems in the districts. She loathed them, yet another part of her pitied them for their naivety. She shook her head and then looked back at the boy divulging the information.

Incredible, she thought, it must have been to live Mario's life. To have parents who _worked _for the Capitol and who actually constructed some of the Hunger Game's most fames technological creations. So interesting…

Then her face shot up, looking at him with sudden realization. "You must be…rich, then."

"Yeah…" Mario said modestly, blushing a little. "We have a lot of money. Like, a _lot _of money, but…" He didn't finish his sentence. He just bit his lip, shrugged his shoulders, and made sure his hair was still straight.

"Wow…" Clyde said with fascination. "And now," she began, the liveliness in her voice dying out, "you're going to lose it all. I mean…if you don't win, that is. Doesn't that make you…depressed?"

"Me?" Mario asked. "No…I don't care what happens! I'll always be optimistic! If you look at life the wrong way, you'll live life the wrong way and then die with a lot of regrets. So no, I'm happy no matter what! Do you need me to sing you the song?"

She smiled at him, looking down at her plate and shaking her head. "I think I still remember."

"Here," he said, watching her. "You look sad. Let me cheer you up." He picked up his plate, which still had most of the food on it, and said, "Think I can balance this on my head?" He stood up. "And maybe do a little dance or something?"

"What?" Clyde asked, amused. Her blue eyes were shining with wonderment. Mario had such an odd personality, she couldn't help but be amused. "I…I want to see this," she said, putting down her fork and knife and leaning back in her chair to watch. She rested her hands at her sides and watched him, a smile on her face.

Mario put the plate on his head. At first it looked like it was going to slip off, but then he balanced it back on. Clyde clapped for him as though she were watching an amazing feat and cheered him on. Then, the boy began to spin slowly, trying to make himself look like a twirling ballerina, all the while keeping the plate securely on his head. "_Woaahh! _I think…I think it's going to slip!" Clyde couldn't help but laugh; she didn't know it was possible to be having this much fun so soon before the Hunger Games.

"Wow!" she said, impressed. "That looked like true ballet, right there. A true professional!"

"You're too kind!" Mario reached for the plate atop his head, but accidentally knocked it right off and onto the ground. The whole thing landed with a massive crash, shattering instantly. The glass and the food were sprawled across the floor, and the boy froze in his footsteps, staring at his mess with wide eyes and making an "oops" face.

But Clyde just burst into laughter, her face in her lap as visions of Mario knocking the plate off his head replayed in her mind. The boy just blushed again, giggling a little bit to himself and walking back to the table with his hands behind his back and his head hung low. Clyde was still laughing. "Mario…that…that was great. Thank you."

Mario grinned at her and straightened his now-ruffled hair. "Awww, thanks Clyde."

"You think someone heard that?" she asked, trying to stifle the last of her laughs.

"I dunno," Mario grinned, looking back at the mess he made. "Maybe I should clean that up," he said, looking over at the calamity of glass and now-ruined delicacies. But before he could move, Clyde spoke again, and he found himself distracted.

"So…when you're not being a ballerina…or a singer…or whatever you are right now, what do you do? Tell me more about yourself," Clyde said. "I'd love to get to know you a little bit better…"

"Hmmm…" Mario squinted his eyes, trying to think. "Well, you know about my parents. And…well, I have a little sister, too. Her name's Potia…she's fifteen…she's pretty hyper. No, _very _hyper."

"Sounds like someone I know," Clyde said casually. Mario grinned.

"And I have a _doggy_," he said. He pulled out a small book from his pocket and flipped to one of the pages. "Here's a picture. The Capitol gave him to us, actually…to protect all the technology and stuff we're making. Can't let _that _stuff get stolen. Talouse is a guard dog, yeah, but he's a good friend, too. Isn't he just so cute?"

Clyde smiled. "Yeah…" Deep down, behind her facial facade, she was sad. She loved to hear about Mario and his life, but the more he talked…the harder she knew it would be to see him die. _And he even brought along a little photo album of his family_, Clyde thought. She felt so bad…Mario didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to die. Couldn't the Capitol have given him immunity? He was the son of the technology builders of the Hunger Games, after all. Was it fair?

"What about you?" Mario asked.

"Me? Oh, well…we don't live in a mansion, or anything, but we live a pretty moderate life. My dad's a factory worker for an electronics company and my mom's a teacher. Her job…kinda has her paranoid, though. I mean, she sees kids from her class get sent to the Hunger Games…she used to break down every time she lost a student." Clyde sighed heavily. "And now…she lost me."

Mario was about to console her, but the girl continued. "My older sister, she escaped the Hunger Games a few years ago, though. She never had gotten reaped, thankfully. You don't know how happy my parents were…and me, too. But…I guess everyone can't be so lucky…"

"I'm sorry…" Mario said earnestly. "But…don't give up on yourself…" He looked her directly in the eyes. "You can win this thing. I know it. Trust me."

"I can't."

"You can."

"No…" She shook her head. "I want to believe that I can, but…I really _can't_. I can't kill a person. I can't do it. Even if adrenaline overtook me, I don't think I'd be able to kill a person." She sighed. "Do you think you could?"

Mario thought about that. He tilted his head to the side and looked up at the ceiling, thinking. Then he looked back at her and shook his head. "No. I couldn't…" He shrugged and said, "I mean…it just sounds so horrible. I mean, imagine driving like…a dagger into someone. That's just so…disgusting." He grabbed his arms with his hands and made it look like he was shivering. The idea just chilled him to the bone. "Not for me…"

Clyde nodded, understanding. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She thought it was a shame, though, that neither of them would kill someone. But still, she considered Mario a valuable ally. Killing wasn't the only thing a tribute was valuable for.

The two let silence take over the dining room. Clyde was picking at her food, her appetite lost, and Mario was lost in thought. Then, the girl said, "Which is why I'm going to lose the Hunger Games…"

"No, don't think that way," Mario said reassuringly. "You must be confident. You must fight for a cause."

"A cause?" Clyde asked. "I don't have a cause. My cause is staying alive, I guess." She twisted up her face in frustration. She didn't really understand what he was getting at. "What's _your_ cause?"

"Mine? Well…I really want to get home to not just my family…also my friends." He lifted up his arm and showed Clyde his wrist. There was a blue bracelet with the letters T,C,O, and L on it. "Before I got onto the train today, my friends gave me this."

"What do the letters stand for?"

"Tara, Cassandra, Olivia, and Lillianne," Mario answered, pointing to each lettered bead as he said each name. "My four best friends…I'm gonna try to survive for them…because I don't know what I'd do without them."

Clyde looked down at her plate again. She wondered if one of those girls was his girlfriend, but she chose not to ask; perhaps at a better time. "I dunno…I'd like to get home to my friends, too…" she said, but her voice trailed off. She was lost in thought. Mario looked at her, concerned, and tried to break her out of her staring trance by waving his hand in front of her face. She smiled warmly at him again. "You know…I'll think about what you said. You're a pretty nice guy, you know." She pushed her plate away from her and stood up. "I think I'll go back to my room, for now. We should talk about plans tomorrow, but for now I'm gonna try to get some sleep."

"Okay, sounds fine by me!" Mario responded, standing up when she did. "You okay? You look a little…mopey. Do I need to do another dance? Maybe I could do my Jayce imitation. My friends love that."

Clyde tried to not smile, but she couldn't help herself. She looked back at the mess he had made on the floor and laughed lightly. "I'll see you later, Mario. I'll hold you to that Jayce thing, though."

Mario nodded to her. "Alright, well goodnight, then." He waved her off, his face in a smile the whole time he did. She disappeared soon after, leaving him alone in the room. He turned to the shattered plate on the floor, squinting at it as though telling the plate he was angry with it. "There's gotta be a broom around here, or something," he said under his breath. As he went to work cleaning up the mess, Mario thought long and hard about the night he spent with Clyde. She was a true friend, he thought. A true friend.

* * *

**Hmmmm...how intriguing. I loved their characters, by the way. Thank you Grimsley and jaffacakesyumm! Anyway, I'd love to hear about the latest batch of tributes in your eyes.**

**Also, the other day I was thinking about this question and tried to come up with an answer. So, I decided to let you guys in on the fun, too: if you were a tribute and could ally with one of the 6 tribute so far, which one would it be?**

**Thanks!**


	8. District 4

**Ahhh...so good to post another chapter! I must admit, these train ride/reapings chapters are actually a lot more fun than I thought they'd be. I feel like I really get to know the characters, so hopefully that means writing the games/pre-game chapters will just be that much easier! Anyway, this chapter pretty much puts an end to the career tributes (unless you count D14, which CERTAINLY shouldn't be counted out as a strong district).  
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**And now, on to the reviews**

**x FallingAshes x : I really liked what you said about Mario. I was hoping that was how you would feel! Also, yeah, it must suck to be his parents. I mean, they are workers FOR the Hunger Games! That Capitol will stoop to ANYTHING to make themselves as horrible as possible. Also, very interesting what with which tribute you'd ally with. Yeah, I could see it hard being with Rose and Spider, unless you like those kinds of people. And Mario and Clyde, though very likeable, are a little lacking in the...you know...strength/fight department. At least they'd keep me moderately sane, though. Anyway, thanks for the review! As usual, much appreciated!  
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**ghostleon: Thank you very much for your review. ;) Interesting choice...Spider, hmm? Well, he's certainly strong, and perhaps a little less sinister than his older sister. Then again, as you said, letting the careers kill each other off isn't such a bad choice, either. You gotta get rid of them at SOME point anyway. Thanks for your review, as usual!**

**ShootingforWishingStars: Ahhhh, yes. Your reviews are always so exciting to read. I feel like I'm inside your mind, 'cause you write everything you're thinking! I love it! And don't feel bad about missing a review here and there. I'm grateful you do so at all. :) I'm glad you liked the Clyde/Mario duo, and yeah...interesting reaction to getting reaped. I like the way you're thinking about angles and all that jazz. Also, you're not the first person who said they'd ally with Spider. Interesting choice...I guess he's the guy to go with then, huh? Oh, and I approve of the nicknames. :) Thanks for your review!**

**BecauseofKillianJones: Oooh, I love that you're rating them, too! It gives me a good feel what you think about them, strength/winning-wise. Anyway, glad you liked Mario and Clyde...and what you said about Mario's odd reaping. That was amusing. :D Interesting choice of Max and Mitsy. Well, I guess Max not so much...but Mitsy, well, we'll see how her storyline turns out. And well...wait a second. If I'm not mistaken, it is time! Finally! District four! This was a very interesting chapter to write. Your tributes are GREAT, by the way. They've left me with so much room to play around I feel like I could do something cool things with them. Anyway, thanks for the review, as usual!**

**T1nyDanc3r: Ahh, glad you liked the tributes! And I liked hearing of who your favorite tribute is. Mario, huh? Yeah, he's pretty likable. A fun, nice guy. Everything you said was pretty spot on, so kudos to you! If I recall correctly, one of your tributes is coming up soon...I bid them good luck! And thank you for your review!**

**jaffacakesyumm: I'm glad you liked it! And I'm glad you're thinking about a potential Clyde/Mario relationship. We'll see how that turns out, if there's anything there at all. Anyway, I liked the way you rated the tributes again, 'cause it kinda lets me see how long you think the tributes are gonna survive and all. And yeah...about that whole trust/Mario thing. Hmmm...very interesting, indeed. Kinda must make him feel betrayed by the Capitol, huh? Also, D1? Interesting choice. A pretty popular choice, actually. And by the way, writing for your tribute was AWESOME! I mean, you (and everyone here, really) has made such cool tributes that have given me sooooo many ideas! Can't wait! Anyway, thanks for the review!**

**CelesteIzaFanLolz: Thanks for your review! I'm happy you liked the chapter and I'm happy you found the story! Much appreciated!**

**Also, I just wanted to give a little shout out to all of my followers/favoriters, as well, 'cause I really appreciate that as well! Thanks guys for keeping me REALLY excited about writing this thing!  
**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, BecauseofKillianJones, for the district four female, and thank you, FlintLightning, for the district four male.**

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**District 4**

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**Carmili "Carminha" Lucia Moreira, age 17 (District 4 Female)**

It was going to be a difficult game for her, she knew, being pregnant and all. Carmili was a great runner and a great fist-fighter, but she wondered if her skills would be impaired, or worse, nonexistent. But she didn't care if they were. She knew she loved her baby enough to fight for him or her as any loving mother would. On that she stood firm.

In front of her sat the Capitol's treasure trove of foods and desserts, yet she wasn't eating; she was just thinking. Across the room the large flatscreen television played the recap of the reapings, yet Carmili wasn't studying the other tributes; she was lost in the complicated web that was her mind.

That TV…those children…the reapings…the thought of them just made her sick. It made her hate the Capitol even more. _Like an all-power, all-controlling thing that pretends to be good but hurts the people who are good. _Carmili winced. President Jayce's speech was filled with such unbalanced blame; the districts weren't the cold-blooded backstabbers as the President portrayed them, and the Capitol wasn't the helpful, loving government Jayce claimed it to be. Besides, Carmili thought, there must've been a reason the districts rebelled in the first place. Probably something unfair the Capitol did…

But was it fair, now, that she may have to die? That her unborn child would have to suffer an unfortunate fate as well? The Capitol lied this year, she thought. They were not only killing off the tributes, but also her offspring and her entire lineage to come. What heartless liars.

Carmili buried her face in her hands, letting the mental pain and torture of the long train ride drive her to insanity. She thought of home in district four. She thought of her best friend, Cloe Marger, who was no doubt worrying unendingly about her at that very moment. And she also thought of Caspian, Cloe's son, a precious four year old boy who loved Carmili as much as Carmili loved him. And then she understood; if she died, it wouldn't just be her and her baby's lives that the Capitol stole. Cloe would feel alone and ruined, and Caspian would live without the girl he looked up to almost as a mother. It wasn't fair…it really just wasn't fair…

Carmili lifted her head and looked up. On the television screen displayed the district four reapings. Though mostly uninterested, she watched herself get reaped. She wanted to see what it was like to see herself…to see how she walked and how she stood and how she reacted after she just found out she was doomed to a one-in-twenty-eight chance at life. And, she wanted to see how she looked for the Capitol's point of view…

"Let us decide the district four female!" the escort said on the TV. Carmili leaned forward on her hands and watched attentively. That glass ball that contained countless tributes' names…the odds, she felt, were astronomical. "Carmili Moreira!"

The cameras flashily zoomed in on the tribute. She stood for a moment, the cameras focused solely on her and her straight blonde hair and her tanned skin. Then the girl started walking, and it rapidly became obvious how career-worthy she was. She was tall, standing at five feet nine inches, and was visibly very muscular, with a strong-looking upper body and an equally as trained lower body. Her pregnancy wasn't even yet visible…

Carmili watched herself walk onto the stage confidently. That was good, she felt. She wanted to look like a fighter, and the more she watched herself, the more she realized she did. She looked like the _perfect _career, with her strength, confidence, and all. She was impressed with herself, and was confident she'd win over some of the sponsors' hearts by just looking like a true winner.

Seeing herself get reaped got her interested; how did the other careers look? How did she stack up? If the other careers were—say—twelve or thirteen, she was a shoe-in for getting supported by the sponsors who based their entire games on whether the physique of the careers looked promising.

The boy from her district was built like an ox, but that might have only served her well in the end, anyway. She decided to rewind the reapings show to the start and watch, squinting her brown eyes as she did.

The girl from one, Mitsy, looked relatively impressive. She was tall like Carmili, yet she didn't possess the sentinel-like physical strength Carmili did. _Looks fairly strong_, the girl admitted, _but seemed pretty cowardly running from the stage_. She would have to keep her eye on that Mitsy, no doubt.

And then there was the boy from one. "Maxwell Floyd," said the escort; the escort's voice rang through Carmili's mind for a few seconds before it registered precisely whose name she called.

"Max…Maxwell?" Carmili repeated. She paused the show as the cameras zoomed in on the boy. That face…yes, she knew that face. She knew the boy very well. But…"Max…?" A tear began to form in her eye as she stared at the frozen picture of Maxwell Floyd. The girl wiped it away, but more began to fall. She let out an amazed gasp, and her mouth hung open wide as she just continued to stare at the boy.

It was Maxwell…it was that boy…

And then her pent of up memories, all that fury and anger she had at the world and at her father and at the Capitol and _all of it _came back in a rush. It was like a movie playing rapidly in her mind; she remembered it all. Every last detail. She didn't know if that was for better or for worse…

_District two wasn't all that great. It was portrayed as being such a prestigious place with strong, attractive people and some of the most important citizens in all of Panem. But that was just a liar telling a fairytale, Carmili thought. That was what the Capitol _wanted_ the other districts to believe. But district two was no better than the slums of district fourteen._

_There were cruel parents there, and parents who hated their children. There was still murder and thieveries and rape there. And there was _her _rape…by the man she should have trusted most. No…it was too horrible to remember. It was just the beginning of her horrible life, and the aftermath of the death of her dear, dear mother, Virginia. She was so alone…_

_And then she worked for her father as a mason. But he treated her like garbage that should have been able to work without pause. She worked until she fainted from exhaustion and until her bones were so weak she could hardly stand. But her father never cared. Santiago was heartless and unkind. She felt ashamed to be related to him._

_And then, as if _she_ were the bad, repulsive one, her father cast her off to the Community Home in district two, wanting nothing more to do with her. She truly felt like trash: used and thrown away. _

_But the Community Home wasn't so kind, either; "Each day, you must look through the trash and garbage on the streets to see if you can find anything the Community Home can use. You better not slack on your job; it's not our job to watch over you kids. We're just kind enough to do it. Got it?"_

_And so Carmili started her second horrible life, rooting through trash and living in the unfortunate Community Home staffed with Peacekeepers. The fifteen year old girl wanted something—anything—in her life to make it worth living. _

_And then he came…_

"_My name's Maxwell. You can call me Max. You?"_

"_Carmili…" was the quiet, slightly untrusting response. "You can call me Carminha."_

"'_Carminha…' That's a nice name."_

_And then he divulged everything to her, his life story and all. And then Carminha knew; she was destined to be there. She was destined to meet Max. She was destined to find the one true person who understood her completely. _

"_My mom…well. I never really got to know her because she left me and my dad when I was young. She abandoned me…to him. And then he made me work—every day—as a mason. Sometimes he worked me so hard I passed out; I couldn't even stand sometimes…my body was so weak. And he left me so hungry I forgot what eating was like. The only meals he gave me were scraps of tessarea…it tasted so bad. And he'd only give me a little bit, almost to tease me. And then…I came here, because I couldn't live with him anymore. If I stayed at home any longer, I think he would've worked me to death." That was one of the first things Max told Carminha. So trusting he was, she thought, to reveal such a shameful life story to her…to deem her worthy of hearing about his torture._

"_I…have a similar story," she said to him. And when she was done, they felt a connection to each other greater than they'd ever shared with another person before. They understood each other's pain. They felt like they had known the other their whole lives._

"_You're living life too seriously," Max always told her. "You need to live life laughing!" And then he would steal the garbage bag she was using to collect the Community Home's trash and hold it an arms length away, keeping it just out of reach. Carminha always struggled to get it back, and was always worried that a Peacekeeper was watching them goof off with the garbage bag, but Max's joking was the only thing keeping her alive. She didn't know how a person who lived such a horrible life could could have been so optimistic. From that day on, she tried to live life laughing, with Max at her side._

_And they went everywhere. "Here, I'll show you this cool place I found," Max had said. Or, "I'll show you this lady downtown who sells bread for cheap," or "Have you ever watched the sun come up above the waterfall?" He showed her everything he knew about district two, and she loved it._

Another tear fell from Carminha's eyes as she remembered the good—the _best_—times, and the one person who ever made her truly happy. She loved the waterfall, she thought. And walking with him in the woods. And trying to grab the garbage bag, only to have it pulled away at the last second. And smiling….and laughing.

"_The Duchess," Max said to her. "I've decided, that's what I'm going to call you," he said as they sat watching the sun disappear over the waterfall. "Do you approve?"_

"_I approve," she said, a kind smile on her face. "It sounds so regal. I love it." And then Carminha called Max, "the Skin," and even loved that, too. The Duchess and the Skin learned what it was to truly love a person that year. That short, short year…_

"_You two have been caught goofing off one too many times," a Peacekeeper said days later. "The other kids in the Community Home know you sneak out at night. And you don't do your work. We've contacted your biological parents, and they told us we may as well send the two of you to the correctional facility in district fourteen for juvenile delinquents. Luckily for you, we're not allowed to do that, for you have committed few crimes in your time living here. But we can certainly send you away…to another district. To live your life in another Community Home, where you will be of no bother to us. But for the sanity of the other Peacekeepers, we must separate you two."_

_Things happened too fast that night. Max saw Carminha scream and run, and saw a Peacekeeper run her down. Max didn't know what happened after that. He didn't know how it happened. But he knew…it was over._

"_Your little girlfriend has been killed for disorderly conduct," another Peacekeeper told him. "She tried to run, and, sorry, but we don't have a soft spot in our hearts for the delinquents of society. Let that be a lesson to you. C'mon, you're going to district one."_

"_No!" Max yelled. She couldn't be dead; he didn't believe it. "I want to see her! I want to see her!" The Peacekeeper drew a nightstick from his belt, but Max was on him, screaming and attacking him. The nightstick was dropped from the Peacekeeper's hand, and it was all over. The fire in Max's eyes burned bright that night, as the pain and suffering he had endured his entire life came out again…and again…and again. Whack, whack, whack…_

Carminha shuddered. She stared blankly at the wall as the memories ate her from the inside out. She didn't know how she could do it, but she remembered everything so vividly. All of it. The way Max joked with her, and the way the Peacekeepers forcefully took her from him. And then…

She remembered hearing stories of a murdered Peacekeeper from district two several days after the incident. She had known it was Max who killed him. She had known Max had killed the Peacekeeper to get to her, and she knew Max thought she was dead. But what she always assumed was that Max had lived the rest of his life in district fourteen, wasting away in prison for murdering the Peacekeeper. But…

She looked at the television screen again. At the boy she had known so well. At the boy whose life she fully understood even before she met him at that rundown, dilapidated Community Home. She didn't know how he did it, but he wasn't representing district fourteen in the Hunger Games. Carminha resumed the show.

"You…" the escort said, "are the district one male!"

**Zale Shores, age 17 (District 4 Male)**

"_And for the district four male…we have Zale Shores!" _

_The crowd of boys turned instantly to one near the back of the crowd. He stood out, certainly: he was quite tall, a little over six feet, and had a faux hawk style haircut. As the male walked onstage, the children of district four clapped and hooted and hollered. They knew that name well: "Shores." Zale walked tall and confidently, the muscles in his arms bulging and looking incredibly impressive. He had the physique every career boy dreamed of. And as he walked onstage, he felt the good luck the boys and girls of district four were giving him. For that, he was grateful. And for that, he was determined._

In the dining car, Zale sat watching Carminha through his glassy, green eyes. She seemed to be so wrapped up in something that she was completely unaware he was sitting a few tables behind her.

The boy wanted to speak with her, but first he wanted to watch her. To analyze her. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes every now and then. Zale noticed quickly the frozen picture of the district one boy on the TV screen. Obviously she knew him. Obviously he meant something to her. Zale didn't want to think such cutthroat thoughts, but obviously he could use this Max person. He could use him to his advantage to control Carminha, to threaten her with his death. And if Max cared for her as much as she cared for him, Zale knew he could easily turn Max's game into one of ransom, deceit, and bargaining, as well.

Zale wasn't sure if he was the guy for that kind of thing, though. He wasn't excited for the games so he could kill…so he could bathe his hands in the blood of another person and call it a good day. No, he knew he wasn't one of _those _tributes…but he knew he needed to play intelligently. Perhaps, he thought, he could ally with the both of them, and only when the moment called for it turn the game awry. Turn Max and Cariminha against each other, or use their pre-existing relationship against them. It was a work in progress, but it was an idea, nonetheless.

Zale ran his fingers through his faux hawk once, analyzing Carminha as he did. He stared at the back of the blonde-haired girl's head, hearing her sniff again and seeing her wipe her eyes. It was odd, Zale thought: for such a strong-looking, career-type girl, she certainly was very emotional. He found it uncharacteristic of a career, be it a good thing or a bad. _A weakness_, he realized.

Zale wanted to believe he didn't have a weakness. An obvious untruth, he realized, but something to convince himself of. Besides, he had come so far, he felt. He had trained _so_ long and hard with his brothers and sister for the games. His family was a family of winners. His father, though never in the Hunger Games, had always wanted to be, and certainly had been physically ready, too. But that desire was quelled by his creation of his boat-making business. _"Smartest thing I ever did," his father, Fisher, always said. _Thanks to his father, they lived as millionaires. A winner in a different sense…

And their mother, too. River always told her children she could've won the Hunger Games when she was eighteen. The 182nd Games…that victory belonged to her, she insisted. But upon getting pregnant with her first child, Caspian, only one month before the games, River vowed not to volunteer. She couldn't betray the life of her unborn child; she couldn't take the risk. But her life as a career wasn't over: she spent the latter half of her life training her children and the friends of her children in their personal training facility of their colossal mansion. She never did get to volunteer for a Hunger Games, but she, too, was a winner.

And now, it was Zale's turn: he was there to win. He was there to hear the screaming fans hollering his name, and processing up and down the street in his honor. He wanted to be a famous winner more than anything. Like his oldest brother, Caspian, the winner of the 198th Annual Hunger Games, just four years ago. And especially like Dylan.

"_Remember," Dylan warned him after the reaping, "the Capitol looks for a tribute to love. You gotta make yourself that guy. They love someone who's got the good looks. And, man, they wanna see you fight. And I mean _fight_. If you do that, you'll be gettin' sponsored left and right. Trust me. I know."_

And he _did _know. Dylan had won the 199th Annual Hunger Games, a historic Hunger Games that reminded the Capitol just how cruel President Jayce and Polaris Wendington could be. That year had been all-career year, with twenty-eight highly trained and highly skilled children from all over districts one, two, and four. And by the end of that bloodbath of a games, Dylan Shores won, with the support of the entire Capitol and its sponsors behind him. He was the golden child that year; everyone loved him, everyone wanted to see him win, and everyone rejoiced when he did win. That year, Dylan Shores became one of the most famous Hunger Games winners of all time.

_I want that_, Zale thought. He didn't want to let his brother down; after his win, Dylan had divulged everything he knew about the games to Zale and his ten year old sister, Pepple, in case they, too, were ever in the arena. Zale couldn't fail now…not after seeing the life a victor got to live. Not after seeing the way the sponsors supported him at almost every turn. And not after seeing how much his fans adored him. That year, he could do the unthinkable, and be the third winner from just one family.

It was time, Zale thought. It was time to win, and it was time to start. As far as he was concerned, the Hunger Games had already started: the relationship he made on that train with Carminha that afternoon could foretell the course of his entire games.

"Hey, your name's Carmili, right?" He spooked her. She turned around quickly and looked at him. Zale had waited until she was done staring at the picture of the boy from district one. Her cheeks looked tear-stained and the distressed look on her face told him that something bigger than even he could have imagined was going on between her and Maxwell.

"Yeah," she said, sniffing a little bit. "You scared me a little there." She blinked a few times to rid herself of any stray tears. "Sorry about my allergies," she said. "This time of year always gets me." She looked back at the TV, which was showing the district two tributes.. "I was just watching the reapings."

"Oh…" Zale said, nodding. "Anyway, just thought I'd say hi. I'm Zale, you know…"

"Yes," she answered. "You're the brother of that kid who won, right? I…I think I remember…"

"Two kids, actually. Both of my brothers won."

Carminha rose her eyebrows, impressed. "Wow, so…I guess you're expected to do well, then?"

"I hope." He watched her. Her eyes were down and looking at the ground. "I could use your help, though, you know. I mean, I'm sure there's going to be a career alliance and all. I've seen this year's careers," he continued. "You're the strongest girl, no doubt. And I'm probably the strongest guy. I think we'd make a good team."

Carminha's eyes rose, looking at him. Zale felt she was giving him a cold stare, but he couldn't tell. Her eyes still looked a little red from crying, so maybe it was just his imagination. And then she smiled. "Of course," she said. "I'll…I'll definitely think about that. I'd like to see you fight first…" And then she warmed up to him even more. "But…well, how could I say no to the brother of two previous champions, you know?"

Zale smiled and nodded. "Certainly, certainly."

Silence. Carminha smiled sweetly at him, but neither of them spoke. The girl wasn't quite so sure what to believe. He did look strong, and he did look career-worthy. But he wasn't the best…no. He had the drive, but he didn't have the _heart_ to win the Hunger Games, she thought. Zale would shed no blood or tears. He would fight, he would kill, and he would do well. But he wasn't fighting for someone or something; he was just fighting for the fame and fortune and the historic win. But there was no meaning. There was no _heart_. "I think I'm gonna go to my room to relax," Carminha said, "but I think I'd like to …take you up on that offer. I'd feel stupid not allying with you, Zale. You're obviously strong." She pointed at his massive physique, admitting there was nothing fake there. "And you obviously want this. So…yeah, you can call me your ally." She smiled at him and got up. "Good night, if I don't see you tonight."

"Thanks," Zale answered. "And good night to you too, Carmili." As she left, Zale nodded to himself and held his chin in his hand, pondering. Then he sat back in his chair and let his thoughts overtake him. The girl seemed nice, certainly. But he'd need to gain her trust. Something was…off. Nonetheless, he made an impression. She knew his name, she knew his ancestry, and she knew he was a person to be feared. It _would _be stupid of her not to ally with him…and bring Max along while doing it.

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**Dun...dun...dun...**

**Something is definitely going down...hmmm...**

**Anyway, such interesting tributes! thank you so much guys! You know I'd love to hear what you thought of the chapter and of the tributes thus far. I'm gonna ask something I haven't asked yet, because I have NO idea what most of your answers are going to be: who, so far, is your favorite tribute?  
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	9. District 5

**First of all, I have an important NOTE to my readers: if you have a tribute submitted in this story, please stop by and say hi from time to time so that I know you're still reading. I don't want to give your tribute an unfair and early death, especially when you've been reading all along. I just need to know you're still reading/involved, because your tribute's life depends heavily on it! Thank you! :)  
**

**Anyway, here's the D5 tributes and all. Very intriguing people I got to write. ALSO, I've decided, thanks to a confused reviewer, to include the full names AND nicknames of the tributes that have nicknames in their little introductory heading. So, you'll see that now, for instance, the Carmimi (aka Carminha) will be called Carmili "Carminha"...etc. It may take a while to appear but I'll try to change the names ASAP!**

**x FallingAshes x**** : I'm very glad you liked the chapter (so much to say it might've been your favorite). That means a lot! And yeah, plenty of pregnant girls running around the arena this year (oh dear...). I also liked what you said about Zale, because you'll see exactly how his game plays out (he's a very interesting character, actually). Anyway, Mitsy and Max? Nice...yeah, Max got a lot more time in the spotlight last chapter, so I could see why you like him! Enjoy your first tribute this chap, and thanks for the review!**

**ghostleon: Yeah, I don't know what's up with all these pregnancies lol, but it will definitely make the game interesting. I'm eager to divulge all of the characters' stories to you and I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! Your tributes are coming up soon, if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, thanks for the review!**

**T1nyDanc3r: Sorry about the confusion. After I read your comment I decided to include the nicknames of the tributes as well from now on. Her real name is Carmili, but her close friends will call her Carminha. So if you see that sometimes someone calls her Carmili, but then the narrative parts refer to her as Carminha, that's just because the person who called her Carmili probably doesn't know her too well. In narration, I will typically refer to them by their preferred names (in this case, Carminha) unless I have a different reason to call them by their normal names. ANYWAY lol, yeah, a lot of people are commenting on the number of pregnancies haha. Yeah, it's pretty crazy! Anyway, I'm glad you're a fan of Zale now and I suppose we shall see how all that turns out...I believe you have a tribute to be revealed now, yes? Thanks for the review!**

**guest1234567890: I called it the 202nd because it's kinda like the sequel to my other HG fan fic (but not really, I just kinda decided to keep the sequential number order). As to why I started at the 201st, well...I wanted it to be a special year...not a quell, but something close to a quell. And not the year right before a quell either, for some reason, so I guess the year after a quell was the only one left haha! Anyway, thanks for your review and -yeah- Mario's pretty awesome. :) **

**BecauseofKillianJones: Ahh, good to see you! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and hehe thanks for the compliments. I think 8/10s are pretty accurate, at least for the way I was trying to portray them. I guess we'll just have to wait and see how well they really do though mwahaha. A fan of Mitsy? How interesting! She's pretty well-reviewed, actually. I guess she's a likable gal, eheh. Anyway, I CAN'T WAIT to write more about your tributes and introduce your third and final one as well! Thanks for the review!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, T1nyDanc3r, for the district five female, and thank you, x Falling Ashes x, for the district five male.**

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**District 5  
**

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**Jadelyn "Jade" Ramirez, age 16 (District 5 Female)**

It was so odd. It had been preying on her mind since she got on the train. Where was the escort? Where was the mentor? Wasn't this supposed to be the time she got a feel for the games? To watch footage of past Hunger Games, and to study up on the mannerisms and typical weaknesses of the careers? To hear the spiels from her escort and mentor about what to expect? Something seemed very off.

Jadelyn sighed loudly, blowing up a gust of air at her jet black hair. The girl's hair was full and curly, falling down to her shoulders almost like a lion's mane. Her hair, along with her dazzling violet eyes, stood out well against her pale, fair skin. She hadn't bothered to put on make-up that morning in light of the reapings (as most girls she knew did), but she didn't care. She didn't have time—or the desire—to worry about that when she had a game to focus on.

_Surely the Capitol is trying to scare us. Or they're trying to give an advantage to the careers by leaving us without mentors. Clever, yes, but not clever enough. _She wanted a mentor, of course, but she didn't plan to whine and complain about the lack thereof. She knew what she was good at, and she was content with that.

As she lay on her bed staring up at the ceiling, she began to put herself in the Capitol's shoes. It only took her a minute to realize that the districts were just little puppets. They were fodder—or at least their kids were—for the entertainment of the Capitol's people. And that was all. This thought made her angry: she was the _mayor's _daughter! And yet the Capitol showed no respect? They threw her into the Hunger Games, anyway, she realized. And they didn't care. But as she continued to place herself in the Capitol's shoes, she understood: they simple didn't care. And then she thought of herself as the President—that horrible, detestable woman—and it made her realize just how powerful the government really was. If she wanted anything, it would get done; there were armies of Peacekeepers scattered across the lands. If she wanted the best fisherman in district four to work directly for her, she would get it. If she wanted a platoon of coal miners from district twelve, she could get that, too. _How did the Capitol get so strong in the first place?_ was what rang through Jadelyn's mind as she let those terrible fantasies play out through her head.

She sighed heavily and reached for something on her nightstand: a bracelet. She rolled it around in her hands for a few seconds, letting the thoughts of the Capitol and of the Hunger Games be expelled from her mind. The bracelet felt cold, having sat atop the nightstand for quite awhile; the girl fingered it gently for a second, and then looked at it. The object was brass was beautiful, and held a gorgeous heart-shaped stone that read, "You'll be in my heart." Jadelyn smiled.

"_Hey Jade," Silena said. "I'm…really sorry about the reapings…I…" Silena looked down at the ground and shuddered, avoiding the gaze of girl in front of her. She couldn't bear the thought of losing Jade, her best and closest friend, to the vicious Hunger Games._

"_It's alright," Jade said, smiling faintly. "If it had to be one of us, I guess it's better that it was me." Silena rose her eyebrows in a joking way, even though she knew what Jade said what true. She looked down at herself; as usual, she was dressed in a gorgeous, pink dress, and had her hair done up beautifully that morning for the reapings. Jade hated when she did that, but only said, "We wouldn't want to get your pretty, pink dress all dirty, after all." She winked at Silena._

_The girl smirked. "Very funny, Jade. You know, I always thought you would have looked so good in a nice _black _dress. It'd go so well with your hair and—"_

"_Nope," Jade said, holding up her hand and shaking her head. "Don't even say it. You say that all the time. You know I'm not listening…even today." She blocked her ears and turned away. "Dresses are the worst. Good try, though."_

"_You know, they might make you wear one for the Hunger Games," Silena said with realization._

_A shiver ran up Jade's spine. "I'd call it quits right there." She looked seriously at her friend for a moment, who only rolled her eyes and laughed lightly. "But no," Jade continued. "I'd have to wear one, I guess. I mean…I know better than to get on the Capitol's bad side. I have to behave for them, or else…" She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. Forget it. Don't worry about me."_

_Silena twirled her perfectly curled hair in her fingers a moment and just waited, thinking about Jade's words. She had something for her friend, but she just couldn't bring herself to give it to her. Before Silena could say anything more, a boy walked into the room: Andrew Rodriguez, Jade's friend and neightbor._

"_Hey, Jadelyn. How're you feeling?" he asked._

_Jade scowled at him. "You know I don't like to be called that." _

"_I thought you'd gotten over that," Andrew said, smiling. But there was a sense of apprehension in his voice that no one could deny. He looked genuinely sad. "You're still hate that name, huh? After all these years."_

"_You know me better," Jade answered him, smirking. "But anyway…" She wrapped her arms around him. Few things felt better than talking with the people she knew really loved her; they were there for her, she knew. Even if only for a short few moments…it still meant something. "Thanks for coming to see me. You know…you know…I really appreciate it." She didn't want to let go, but the time she could spend talking with her friends was of the essence. "Thank you, both." And then she gave Silena a heartfelt hug, clinging to the girl for what felt like eternity. "I'm gonna miss you in there…"_

_Silena shook her head. "You'll live. You're tough. And—c'mon girl—you're smart, too. You'll make it out okay. Trust me." She looked Jade in the eyes. "Here, I…I have something to give you…" She had been clutching something in her hand the whole time, unbeknownst to Jade._

_Silena read, "You'll be in my heart."_

**Calix Niell, age 15 (District 5 Male)**

Jade caught Calix in the dining room, but he wasn't eating as she assumed he would be. Rather, he was playing with the dinner knives, using them like weapons on invisible opponents. In between his fast breaths he was mumbling something to himself, something about training the body and training the mind. Jade couldn't really tell.

For a moment the girl watched him. The boy looked determined, to say the least. He looked fairly strong, too; he wasn't huge, but he was slim and decently fit. He wasn't a giant, but was of a normal height, probably around five foot six, a little taller than she was. And he wasn't a master knife wielder, but he certainly looked like he had played with blades before. He was so interesting to watch…

To Jade, Calix looked quite charming; he had a blonde, almost golden head of spiked hair, and his blue eyes were easy to get lost in. But she noticed they looked angry. His entire face looked angry. As he "practiced," she noticed how ruthless he looked and sounded.

"Hey, Calix," she said to him, inching over quietly and tip-toeing toward him; she didn't want to get caught in any of his vicious flurries. She smiled charmingly as she reached a chair and pulled it out for herself. "You practicing with the dinner knives? Interesting choice of weapon." The boy stopped and looked at her; he looked tired and exhausted. "Here," she said. "You're holding the knife the wrong way. You have to stab—"

"I know," Calix said quickly. "I don't like knives, though," he said. "I like swords. I don't fight with knives that much." He put the blades down and pulled out the seat across from her. "I prefer something with more impact."

"Knives can have impact, too."

"Yeah," he said, but he shook his head. "But I just don't like them as much."

The two tributes were then silent, as an awkward air of nothingness filled the train. Calix simply stared at the knives he was practicing with, calculating something in his mind, and Jade watched him closely, wondering if this was the kind of person she'd be able to trust. Trust was important, she remembered.

"Ah, well. It doesn't matter." She smiled at him, trying to lighten up the mood. "You weren't that bad, anyway."

Calix wasn't sure if she was hinting at an insult, but he decided to let it go. Instead, he smiled faintly, getting a good look at her for the first time. She was attractive, no doubt, and looked about his age. He leaned forward in his seat and said, "Jadelyn, I think we'd make a good team in the arena. What do you say?"

Jade looked at him made a disgusted face. At first, Calix felt offended, but then she said, "Don't call me that. It sounds so girly and annoying. _Please_," she implored, "call me Jade."

"Oh, Jade, is it?" Calix said, admiring the name. "That's a nice name, you know. Not fit for just any girl."

"You're too kind," she said seriously. "Tell me, Calix: what are you good at? If I take you up on this alliance offer, I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into."

Calix smiled readily, as though he had been waiting for her to ask; he was more than thrilled to get a chance to divulge all of his Hunger Games skills and knowledge to her. "I fight with swords, you know. I'm the best sword fighter in all of district five, actually. I can beat any boy there."

Jade heard his words and pondered them. "Perhaps," she said, "but I don't believe there are many sword fighters in district five anyway. Kids don't just run around with swords like it's district two. You do know we're not a career district, don't you?"

"Yes, but there are still people who play with swords."

Jade smiled and let out a gentle laugh. "Not many. Have you actually fought anyone in district five?"

"Well." Calix stumbled with his words. "Forget it. Don't believe me. I'm telling you I'm a good sword fighter. Isn't that good enough?" He bit his lip and looked down at the table, obviously stressed. Jade gave his arm a motherly touch, still analyzing his personality; he was more complicated than he let on.

"I didn't mean to offend you," she said. "I believe you."

Calix looked down at her hand on his arm, then back up at her face. "Yeah…well, I forgive you," he said. "It's hard to get mad at someone like you," he added more kindly. "Your eyes are a dazzling color. Purple, is it? I don't know any girl with purple eyes…" He pointed at her face. "That makes you special, I think."

Now Jade looked down at her hand; she pulled it away from his arm, but looked down in an almost embarrassed way as she did. Calix leaned forward slightly to see if she was blushing. "Well, well…thanks…" She looked back up at him. "So swords, is it? Anything else?"

The boy froze for a second, thinking; as he did, Jade studied him. He seemed intelligent, she decided. That was a good sign…that and his charming appearance. "Well," Calix continued, "I've been studying the Hunger Games for as long as I can remember. And…I've always thought about strategy. Like, what I would do if I were in the games."

Jade rose her eyebrows. A strategist? Interesting. "You've thought about this stuff before?" She winced at the thought. "'I mean, like…you've placed yourself in a…made-up Hunger Games and thought about what you'd do?"

Calix nodded. "Of course. All the time; while I'm lying in bed, even, if I can't fall asleep. While I'm working for my parents. Whatever. Besides, it's really the only way to prepare yourself for the games aside from training. You have to get mentally ready, too, you know."

Jade admitted his last sentence was true, but still didn't look too convinced. "I know that. But you just can't plan around a fantasy. Everything in the Hunger Games is dependent on the different years and the millions of different things that could happen. Maybe every tribute this game will be strong. Maybe they'll be weak. Maybe the arena will be all water. Maybe you won't get the sword you're counting on."

The boy shook his head. "I've thought about all of that. Most of it, at least. I know I might not get a sword. I'm not just gonna cry and whine, though. I have plans."

"I just don't think you can prepare yourself mentally the way you are. There are too many variables. The only mental preparation you can do is convince yourself that everything will work out, that there are good people in the arena, and that your death will not be in vain if you do die. You just have to accept the truth, and once you do that, you'll play a much better game."

"You don't know that," Calix insisted. "You haven't played the games. I've thought about it all the time. I've played through scenarios in my head. More than you can imagine. I don't want to convince myself of whatever you said, because I'm pretty sure what you said wouldn't make me feel any better at all. It'd just make me feel like I'm waiting for death!"

The girl shrugged, not really wanting to listen. "Perhaps, but I still don't think so. Anyway…let's stop talking about this," she said, suddenly smiling and acting a little more giddy. "We're just stressing ourselves out here. And…you know…stress _definitely _isn't the way to mentally prepare yourself for the games! I think we can both agree on that!"

The boy admitted that was true, and sighed. "Let's not debate anymore," he said. "Let's talk about something that's undebatable. Like you," he said. "How old are you, Jade?"

"Sixteen. Why?"

"I'm fifteen already," Calix pointed out. "You don't look sixteen, though," he added. "You look much younger…I like that." He smiled pleasingly at her, trying his best to take his mind off of the games and the drama. Or as much as he could, at least…

Jade dismissed his comment with a long sigh. "_I_ don't like that," she said. "I don't look that young. I don't understand why everyone always thinks I look so young, anyway."

"But, I said that it's a good thing…"

"Yeah, but I'm _sixteen_. Not younger," she said, trying to remind him of that fact. Calix felt coldness from the icy response she gave him and let the subject die. _Yeah, well when you're old_, he thought, _you'll be thanking me I called you young_. Jade added, "Anyway, I still think we should team up. If you're as good a fighter and strategist as you say you are, I think we'd make a good team."

Calix wasn't expecting her to lighten the mood again, but he felt calmer and more confident when she did. "Yes," he began, "the Capitol will love us; they'll love the boy and the girl from district five. They eat that stuff up."

"Y-yeah…" she said, less enthusiastic than before. Calix sensed her apprehension in the way she avoided his gaze. He couldn't seem to understand her, and the more complicated she made their discussion, the more tired and exhausted he felt.

"It's alright," he told her, reaching for her arm. "I'll protect you."

"Please," the girl said, but Calix cut her off.

"No," he said. "You need someone there for you." He looked into her mystifying purple eyes again and repeated, "You _need_ someone there for you."

"I don't know," Jade said, sounding unsure. She didn't quite like the sound of his comment; why did she _need_ someone? What kind of implication was that? "Let's take it slow, for now." She was sure she knew what Calix was getting at, but she didn't want to let it be true. She wanted a good ally. Someone who was smart. Calix was smart, but she felt he was also a little reckless and spontaneous.

The boy didn't seem to like her answer, but he didn't want to debate with her anymore. He needed her more than she knew. "Well, then, let's talk about interview strategies and things…" A large portion of that day was then dedicated to strategizing for the interviews, their private sessions, and beyond. The duo had their share of bouts, as usual, often arguing about what tactics they believed were more effective. When Jade pushed her views too far so as to make Calix angry, she always apologized, and he always accepted with an unexpected wink or gracious compliment. It was a vicious circle of anger and love that only confused Jade and stressed Calix out.

When Jade stood up to leave, nearly two hours later, she said, "I need sleep. If I don't sleep, I won't be able to think clearly. Tomorrow's an important day, you know."

"I know," he said self-assuredly. "You look tired, too. Need an escort?" He held out his arm, offering to walk with her, but the girl shook her head quickly.

"No!" she answered. "I mean…no thanks." And then she was gone, down the hall. Gone.

"I need you!" he called out loudly, not sure if she heard him. Calix looked at the door in awe and fascination, but not without teeming with anger. He was infuriated, but he couldn't show it. His mind felt lost, but he didn't want to believe it was. _She doesn't understand! _he thought irritatedly. He knew she just thought he was a dumb kid looking for an attractive girl; but that wasn't it. _She doesn't understand at all!_

He slammed his fist down on the table. _Royce_, he thought, _I hate you._

"_Mom and dad are out working," Royce said. "I'm supposed to watch you. Where are you gonna be playing?" Calix, five years old, looked up at his big brother with a toothy grin._

"_Wherever you are, Royce."_

Calix scratched at the wooden table with his finger nails. Lies. He thought himself stupid for being such a naive little kid. He hated himself for it.

"_Royce, where are you going today?" the eight year old boy asked._

"_To my girlfriend's house, Calix. I'll be back soon."_

"_Can I come? Please?" His eyes were pleading, like a puppy's._

_Royce just smiled. "Okay, little man."_

The boy on the train shuddered at that memory. "Little man," his brother called him? What a pathetic name, he thought. His brother was stupid, and so was he for loving him.

"_Royce, how did you get a girlfriend?"_

"_Well," his brother answered, "I just had to be charming." Calix knew his brother was very charming with the girls and that he swooned all them easily. Royce was popular with everyone, really. He had a confident air about him that Calix wanted so desperately to have; he wanted to be _justlike_ his big brother, the person he felt was much more fatherly than his workaholic dad._

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Calix rolled his fist against his head and scowled.

"_Look, Royce!" Calix was showing off his new haircut. _

"_You…look just like me!" Royce said, surprised._

Jade didn't understand. It was so infuriating.

_Calix trained for the Hunger Games in the woods for several years thereafter in secrecy. He wanted to prove to his parents that he was a good, strong son. Surely if he won, they would love him the way they loved Royce…_

Calix laughed aloud. He loved playing through his memories time after time. He felt it made him stronger. That it made him more independent. That's what he hoped and tried to believe, anyway.

"_Royce, great work, son!"_

"_Highest grade on your math test? Incredible!"_

"_You girlfriend seems very friendly. You deserve someone like that."_

"_Royce, I can't believe how strong you're getting!"_

"_You're quite the ladies' man, eh, son? Good for you!"_

"_You did all this for me? Thank you, so, so much, Royce…"_

What jerks. Calix was there, too, standing in his brother's shadow. Yet his parents always failed to see him? His mother was kind, at least, but his father was cold and bitter, always poking fun at him rudely, or simply ignoring him, altogether. It didn't make sense. Calix swooned the ladies the same way his brother did; the girls loved him, too, but his father thought it was detestable. Month after month Calix proudly introduced his new girlfriend, but his father only assumed Calix dated with the desperate girls. Or girls who just didn't want to be with him. He would never meet a nice, good girl like Royce had, his father would say. "_Cocky and over-confident," the man said to his wife behind closed doors. _

Calix furrowed his eyebrows. Royce was the same way; he was over-confident and thought too highly of himself. Calix knew that. But he could stand that, at least. He could live painfully knowing that his parents over-glorified his brother. But he couldn't live with what his father did just a few months ago.

"_What is this?!" his father roared, watching as his son used a stick as a sword. He was training in the woods. "What are you doing out here?!"_

"_I'm training for the Hunger Games."_

"_What?!" His father looked flabbergasted, a horrified look in his eyes. "You are crazy! You are going to die! Don't you see that! There is something wrong with you! We are not a career district!" He threw his arms up into the air and backed Calix into a tree. Then, he just shook his head and walked away, letting his anger die away in disappointment. "Why can't you just be more like your brother?"_

That was the day Calix knew he hated his parents. He hated his brother. He had felt anger and frustration, but never _hate_. But he knew then; as his father spoke those words, he knew what it felt like. He didn't care about his father, anymore; if the man died in the forest that day, Calix would have walked away without a second thought or without a teardrop in his eye.

_The Justice Building was empty. At least the room he was in was. He got reaped just minutes ago and was thrust ungently into a room in the large building by a surly Peacekeeper. And now…he waited. He was just waiting for the Peacekeeper to come back and lead him onto the train._

_His parents weren't there, nor was his brother. Even one of his girlfriends didn't come to visit him. He tried not to care, though. He didn't need their support. For that matter, he didn't _want_ their support. He wanted to win the Hunger Games on his own and come back a champion, knowing his parents or brother played no part is _his_ success._

_It was almost noon when he heard familiar voices asking about him out in the hall. It was his parents and brother. "Where…where can we find our son, Calix?" It was his mother's voice, no doubt. She sounded a little worried and distressed, but Calix didn't care; she claimed to love him, but all he ever felt from her was the leftover love she didn't give to Royce._

_But it was 11:51. It was too late. He had been in that room since 11:15, waiting alone. He would be escorted to the train in less than ten minutes; he felt any good-byes were worthless. So as his parents and brother came through the door that morning, they only found an empty room and an open window._

The boy looked venomously at the floor, trying to direct his hate at his family by doing so. He knew he was free from them, but he didn't feel it; he still felt he was twisted around his father's deceptive finger. If he didn't prove himself in the games, all of his work would go without gain. But if he did…if he did win the games…he would be free. _Jade…you _really_ don't understand._

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**Mwahahahaha! Oh man, this is getting SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE! I seriously can't wait to get to the pre-game chapters (after the tribute reveal), 'cause then we'll finally get this game started.**

**As usual, I'd looooove to hear from you guys (and so would your tributes, hehe) about your thoughts on the chapter. I really really liked writing these characters. Honestly, I must say to their creators that they are AWESOME! Anyway, this chapter, I'd like to hear which tribute so far revealed you think most represents YOU as a person (ignore gender and age, go more based on personality and looks etc). I think it'll give me a good way to hear more about you guys personally hehe. After all, you are my loyal readers! Thank you!**


	10. District 6

**Huzzah! The new chapter! I'm really pumped about this one; it was fun to write and I really enjoyed the tributes, as usual. I know I've expressed this about a million times before, but I really must thank you guys for submitting such awesome and DIFFERENT tributes! Really! I don't know how 28 tributes created by 16 people managed to be entirely different from one another, by they are! And I love it! Thank you!**

**Slappinthebassmon: Ahhh, good to see you! First, I'd like to totally agree with you that I think the tributes are very different (and that is thanks to their creators!). Also, I really want to thank you for reviewing and letting me know you are still reading. That is very important to keeping your tributes alive, so thank you very much. Also (as you mentioned in your review), if you don't know how to review and/or think you'll sound stupid, I always ask a question at the end of each chapter that people typically respond to, so you could always answer that if you have no idea what to say! But you don't have to like kill yourself or anything, haha. As long as I think you're still reading, you're good! :) Anyway, thank you for the review and...dun dun dun...it's time for your tribute (one of them, anyway!)!**

**x Falling Ashes x : I'm glad you liked your tribute! And thanks for clarifying those mistakes, haha! Sometimes I get a little carried away with myself and type things that don't make sense :P Also, how interesting...Jade and Maxwell are your personality? I can see that...they DO kind of have similarish personalities (in a way), so I can understand that! Very interesting! :) Thanks for the review, as usual! Glad you liked Calix! He was awesome to write!**

**Flintlightning (5): Welcome back! I'm soooooo glad to see you again! Because now...I know you're reading and that killing off your tribute pre-maturely would be B-A-D. So, thanks for the review! Anyway, I liked your opinions of the tributes, too! No escorts/mentors is, yes, very interesting...hmmm. Also, thanks for commenting on the fact that I've started the tribute chapters on the train ride. I wanted to do something a bit different. :) Anyway, thanks for the review!  
**

**Flintlightning (6): Hello, again! Your one comment about Spider intrigued me (when you said that most 12 y/o are written like 6 y/o). I didn't know that, haha! Yeah, I wanted to make him a little more mature and smarter; after all, he's been training for the games all his life, so I figured it would make sense if he took it seriously. So thanks for that! Very appreciated! Thanks for the review!**

**ghostleon: That was a great review! You NAILED the personalities of the two tributes on the head! I'm glad you liked, Calix, as well! Also, interesting that you see yourself in him. Based on my reviews, it seems like a lot of the reviewers concur with that! Maybe that will make him more personable, since people can better relate to him? Anyway, thanks for the review, AND...huzzah! Your first tribute is this chapter!**

**IceHeart101: I must say your review made me laugh. And yes, you took me very literally, but I applaud you for actually getting me to laugh out loud! And...well, I guess now I know that you're still reading, so thanks for the review!**

**BecauseofKillianJones: Ahh, thanks for your kind words. Yeah, if I ever abandon this story, I'll give you the personal right to slap me upside the head for being so stupid! But since I don't think that's going to happen, on with the review of the review (hehe, that sounds funny...). I liked your opinions of the tributes, first off. Also, a pair of 7s for them is pretty good! Yes, I will say they do seem like pretty decent tributes (especially for non-careers!). Ahhh...Max represents your personality? You do love him, don't you? I'm glad you like your own tribute so much! Anyway, thanks for your review!**

**PeenissandClato (5): Good to see you! And as I've told everyone else, your tributes are much safer now that I know you're reading! :) Anyway, A LOT of the questions you had in your review will certainly be answered in the future! I like how you're kind of giving me like a little rundown of each tribute, too. That way I know exactly what you think about them. Thanks for the review!**

**PeenissandClato (6): Max and Rose? Very understandable. Spider IS quite young (and you and his sister pointed out), so his game will certainly be tough. We'll just have to wait and see what happens, I guess!**

**PeenissandClato (7): I'm glad you like Clyde, first of all. She's a pretty cool tribute, definitely! And Mario...hmm, the charming angle, perhaps. He is rather giddy, yes. Also, I LOVED what you said about their relationship! I'm glad you want to see them as a couple. Thanks for the review!**

**PeenissandClato (8): I'm glad you like the Carminha/Max storyline. Yes, that kind of thing CERTAINLY changes the way the game will run! And Zale is your favorite? Thanks for telling me, because that's very interesting to know! Thanks for reviewing, of course!**

**PeenissandClato (9): Hahaha, first of all, I'd like to say thanks for these FIVE reviews! Anyway, I really really like what you said about Jade and Silena's relationship, because...well...I guess I was hoping people would feel that way. Ahhh, a sweet spot for Calix? Yeah, he's lived a pretty tough life. And it seems like a lot of people see themselves in him, including you! How interesting! Thanks for the review! Always appreciated, as you know!**

**T1nyDanc3r: Oh, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I'm sooooooo glad you approve of Jade and the way she acted! I feel soo happy that I've managed to do your tribute justice! That's pretty much all I care about, haha! Anyway, I'm glad you like Calix, too. ;) He definitely has a unique storyline to him and seems to have earned a soft spot in a lot of the readers' hearts, thanks to his creator. :p Also, Jade most represents you? Well, she WAS an awesome tribute to write, so I guess that makes sense! (Okay, there's my flattery for the day .). Anyway, thanks for the review!**

**SummerWillowSkye: Oh, thank you! I'm glad you're getting to know each character well! That's always, in my opinion, the HARDEST part about writing one of these HG fics. So thanks for that comment. :) Also, I'm happy you like Calix, and also verrrry interesting comment about Jade! It's kinda fun when my readers start to actually not like tributes, too! Thanks for the review!**

**Storycake: Good to see you Grimsley! I'm glad you like the fic and I'm glad you're reading! Thanks very much for reviewing and for creating Clyde! She's epic! Also, thanks for answering my little question, too (I love seeing how different each reader is based on who they say represents them!). So thanks for your review, and I'm verrrry glad to see you!**

**jaffacakesyumm: Ah, no problem, no problem! Spain? That must've been pretty cool :D Anyway, first to answer your questions about the pregnancies (I will likely reveal this later, but it's not extremely important info to have, so I don't mind telling you here), that both Mitsy and Carminha are in early stages of pregnancy. Anyway, I'm glad you really liked the Carminha/Max storyline. Also, I actually liked what you said about Zale. Some people like him, some people don't. It's cool to have different opinions of one tribute! I'm also glad you liked the other tributes and I like that you still kinda give them those ratings, because that really gives me a chance to see how you think they will perform. Thank you sooo much for your review!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, Slappinthebasson, for the district six female, and thank you, ghostleon, for the district six male.**

* * *

**District 6**

* * *

**Buck Jr. Dirk, age 15 (District 6 Female)**

"_Goodbye, dad!" Buck called; she wasn't sure if he could hear her, but she always said good-bye as she left for school. He was likely working in the back room of his butcher shop; she would have loved to help him, to spend time with him, to laugh and joke with him and cut up the meat as she always did on a good day…but _no_. She had school._

_The fourteen year old girl got to class late that day, as usual. Some of the other kids in the room sniggered upon seeing her; her shoulder-length brown hair was unkept, tangled, and looked dirty from all the exploring she had done the day before._

_Buck pulled out her chair loudly, interrupting the teacher's speech, sat down, and looked back up at Miss Lavender through her childish, hazel eyes. The teacher probably muttered something about her in annoyance, Buck knew, but she wasn't listening. Another girl in the back of the class was making snide remarks about something. No, not something…Buck knew exactly what._

"_Her dad's a drunk butcher," said the girl. Pearl Plish. Buck hated that girl. As usual, Pearl was dressed in her stylish, first-rate clothing that cost "daddy _so _much money." She had a hibiscus in her hair and had polished herself up with so much make-up her entire fourteen year old innocence was lost. Buck hated her. _

_Pearl was talking to one of the new kids in class. "Her dad is so poor he can only afford to buy her _those_ clothes." She looked at Buck out of the corner of her eye, grinning, and then turned back to the girl next to her. "Those hand-me-downs that he probably found at the Community Home."_

_Buck looked down at herself; her clothes were of completely decent quality. She kept them consistently dirty, yes, but when her father bought them for her the first time…they looked nice. She wanted to turn around and explain that to Pearl, but she kept her mouth shut. Her hand was clenched around a wooden pencil, which looked like it was about to snap._

"_And…" Pearl continued, "They don't even have a house. They live in her dad's butcher shop with all the meat!" Pearl shook her head derogatorily. "And I've heard rumors that her dad's so poor…" She whispered the next part even more quietly than before. "They can't even afford running water! So she doesn't even shower!"_

_Buck snapped the pencil then, but nobody noticed. They _did_ have running water, and they _did_ have a shower. Buck didn't clean herself off too often, she admitted, but she liked to spend so much time outdoors she felt that taking a shower daily was a futile effort._

"_And her dad's drunk all the time," Pearl whispered. "He's always drunk and feeling bad for himself, so he can't make any money." Pearl tried to fake a sympathetic look, but stifled a giggle all the while._

_Buck knew Pearl was wrong; she was lying. Her dad wasn't drunk all the time; sometimes he drunk heavily, yes, but that was only when he was depressed. When he was sad. Pearl had no right to talk about him like she was an alcoholic, Buck thought._

"_Her mom's dead, too…" Pearl sniggered. "They say she committed suicide…" She looked over at Buck directly this time. "But I think that worthless father of hers killed her."_

"_Shut up!" Buck yelled. She then she leapt at Pearl before she even had a chance to laugh at her own comment. Buck slammed into Pearl's desk with a crash, knocking it over and pushing it at unsuspecting girl. And then Buck was on her, screaming wildly about her father and trying to hit the girl as hard as she could; as she started to pull Pearl's hair, the teacher grabbed Buck by the arm forcefully and pulled her off of the now-bleeding Pearl._

"_It hurts!" Pearl yelled, sobbing. She was holding her face and her bloody nose with one hand and her stomach with the other, making moaning and groaning noises as she did. Buck knew she didn't even hit her that hard; Miss Lavender didn't give her the chance to. "Miss Lavender, I can't get up!"_

"_Shut up, Pearl! You can to!" Buck yelled back. Miss Lavender shot her a hateful glare, shaking her head and wagging her finger at her, before she went back to helping Pearl up. "She's lying!" Buck yelled, pushing her luck. But she didn't care if her teacher yelled at her. She and Miss Lavender were like oil and water, and they always would be. She couldn't care less what the woman did to punish her._

_Miss Lavender helped Pearl back to her feet (who staggered over-dramatically, Buck thought), and then took her hand to lead her to the school nurse. But before they left the room, Miss Lavender turned back to the class and pointed at Buck. "You. Go to the principle's office _now_! Wait for me there!"_

"_I don't care!" was all Buck yelled back, her head hung low and her fists balled up. When Miss Lavender was out of the room, Buck paraded past the other awestruck kids, muttering things and mocking her teacher's voice. She slammed the door, too, on the way out._

…

"_Mr. Dirk, it has come to my attention that this is not the first time your daughter has acted out. Is that correct?" The principal, Orion Rockway, asked. He had his fat hands cupped together and his elbows leaning on top of the desk. A large brown curly mustache graced the man's plump face, and his eyes looked so deeply sunken into his head he looked like he was perpetually asleep._

_Buck's dad had met him before; he didn't like him."I don't know," Buck's father said. "You tell me. That's what I'm payin' you for, isn't it?"_

"_Mr. Dirk, you see—"_

"_Your daughter is a terror!" It was Miss Lavender who spoke, leaning out of her chair as though she wanted to stand up and proclaim what she said to the whole world. Her eyes were wide with horror as she pointed at the girl. Buck just smiled sweetly back at her; the girl loved that her teacher thought she was a terror. "She fights with students, she doesn't do her homework, she comes to school late, and, frankly, she doesn't make herself presentable in the slightest!"_

"_Don't talk about my daughter like that!" Mr. Dirk was waving his finger at the teacher, who sunk back into her chair instantly. He looked threatening, being tall in stature, and having come from his butcher's shop; there was dried blood on his clothes and his hands. Miss Lavender scowled at him. "Don't say Buck doesn't make herself look presentable!" he roared. He looked at the teacher again and then at the ground, struggling to find the right words. He frustratedly kicked the wastebasket next to Orion Rockway's desk and glared back at the teacher. "Take that stupid hat off, will ya?" he asked. "We're inside! You don't need to wear that fancy sunhat!" Buck laughed out loud at that. Miss Lavender loved to wear her large and extravagant sunhats even when she was inside the school; Buck always made fun of her for that behind her back. Her father obviously wasn't a fan of them, either._

"_Don't…" Miss Lavender looked angry, now. "Don't tell me what to do! You're not _my_ father! You're _Buck's _father! And I'm telling you that that girl needs serious guidance! Obviously, you're not _giving _her guidance!"_

_It was Buck who yelled now. "Shut up! My dad—"_

"_Now, now…simmer down you," the principal interjected, trying to calm everyone's nerves. He was about to speak, but Miss Lavender cut him off._

"_Do you hear the way she speaks?! She must learn this from you, no doubt! You, sir, should be ashamed of yourself!" The woman looked angry, but felt triumphant. "If you don't start disciplining your child, _I _will. Because by the end of this school year, I will go _insane _with that little brat running around all the time thinking she can say and do whatever she wants!"_

"_We're done, here," Mr. Dirk insisted. "Let's go, Buck." The girl began to follow him out the door, sticking her tongue out at the principal and Miss Lavender. But the teacher wasn't going to take it; her jaw dropped when Buck mocked her, and her face turned to one of pure loathing._

"_Mr. Dirk," Miss Lavender said before he left. The man turned around reluctantly. "There are supposedly some inexpensive properties for sale near the west side of town…" She paused, looking up at the man. "Perhaps if Buck were surrounded by something a little nicer than your butcher shop, she'd—"_

"_Oh, _no!_" the man said, looking directly at Miss Lavender. The principal tried to calm him down, but Mr. Dirk ignored him. "Don't you _dare _try to help my family! And with that comment…we don't need your charity! Don't tell us we're poor, because we're not! We don't need your help! Don't act like you know everything…teachers are dumb as bricks these days, anyway." He just looked down at the ground, mumbling something. He was losing his train of thought. "Go back to the beach where you belong. And take that hat with you."_

_Buck giggled again, and took her father's hand as her led her out the room. They were halfway down the hall when they heard Miss Lavender yell, "Do you like this hat, Buck?! Because if you want one, maybe you should get raised by a _competent parent_! How about a dad who doesn't walk around _drunk _half the time! Or a dad who doesn't come to a school meeting with _dried blood _on his shir—"_

_But Buck and her dad were gone. The girl was both happy and sad at the same time; she was happy because she knew Miss Lavender was only more angry and more disgusted with her than she was even when Buck slammed Pearl Plish to the ground. But she was sad…because her father didn't deserve what everyone said about him. She loved him so much…she didn't want to see him depressed again. And she knew that after that day…the way everyone always seemed to be out to get him and Buck, the way Miss Lavender insulted him, and all of the stress and yelling…he would be sad._

**Joust Ricker, age 18 (District 6 Male)**

Joust was in his room, listening to the sound of the train rolling along its tracks. His bed was crushed underneath the weight of his Adonis frame. The boy looked like a titan, a god; he had jet black hair and dark eyes that played well off the stony lines in his face. And he was built so large and muscularly most careers would have a difficult time matching up. His muscles bulged as a professional weightlifter's would, and when he stood, he towered over anyone in his path: he was seven foot two. _But even the giants fall_, he thought.

And he did. He fell hard. He thought of the Hunger Games and the Capitol. _Those betrayers_. He hated them for what they did to him. He realized he had lived a life with such high points and low points that he was beginning to wonder if life was just a joke in the first place.

He didn't want to leave his room that day; he didn't want to form an alliance with Buck. He felt bad for her, he did, for being so tiny and so much a target; he felt he was going to see her die all too quickly in the arena. And besides…that was not how he operated. He didn't need a teammate, he hoped, to win the Hunger Games.

To win the games that he never should have been in in the first place.

Joust struck his fists down on his bed, shaking it considerably. He wanted to scream, but instead just looked at himself through the mirror at the far end of his room. He realized that although he was miserable, although his life had shattered in front of him faster than he could have believed, he looked ready. He looked stronger than ever…and now…he had a cause. A cause to win. To win and be free from the Capitol's twisted ways. _Those liars. _The President talked about trust in her speech…but all Joust felt from the Capitol was abandonment.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Before Joust could answer his guest, the door opened and in walked Buck. She looked tired, unhappy, and dirty, as though she had just been climbing around the trees for awhile. Her legs and arms had small cuts and bruises on them from the "adventures" she would always go on back in district six, but she liked the look of them. She felt they made her look tough.

"What are you—" Joust didn't know what to say; he was surprised by the way she so fearlessly entered his room. He had arisen from his bed when she came in, and looked like a giant standing next to her—he was more than two feet taller than she was. The juxtaposition of their body types was almost humorous. "I'm not here to babysit you, you know." Joust's voice was flat and expressionless, yet Buck didn't find him threatening at all.

"I don't need a babysitter," she said, furrowing her eyebrows. "I wanted to talk," she said insistently.

"About what?"

"Well for one, I heard you makin' a ruckus in here before, so I decided to come check on you. And…I wanted to ask you a question. Somethin' that's been botherin' me."

Joust didn't look all too thrilled at the moment, but he relented; the girl seemed determined, and the faster he answered her question the faster she'd leave. But still, he wondered…what question could she have possibly wanted to ask _him_? "Alright."

"I want to know how you got to be a tribute."

Joust's eyes darted around the room. He was thinking, looking confused. "What do you mean?" His voice was deep and emotionless, but surprisingly quiet and not as impending as someone would have thought. "I got selected like everyone else did. I got reaped."

"Yeah, but…" Buck folded her arms and had to look up at him, even as sat on his bed. "You're hiding somethin', Mister Joust."

The boy narrowed his eyes in slight irritation and crackled the knuckles of his massive hands. He seemed defeated and overly dead pan, and just sat staring up at the ceiling with his head hunched over. "I'm not hiding anything."

Buck just shook her head and clicked her teeth. She smiled up at him, thinking their game of words was funny. Then, she spoke again in her scrawling voice, "I know that your reaping was…you know, done on purpose. I saw it."

"What did you see?" Joust couldn't hide it any longer, but he knew she was onto him. He realized she knew that his reaping was pre-planned.

"After I got reaped," the girl said slowly, "I was watchin' the escort lady fish around in that big bowl for the boy tribute. I was right on the stage, there, so it was easy. And…I saw that her stick her hand into the bowl already _with _a slip of paper in her hand. So…"

"So," Joust finished her sentence, "you realized that I was destined to be in the games all along."

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head rapidly as he spoke. "It didn't make sense to me." Then she pointed at herself. "Like, was _my _reaping done like that, too? Was I…'destined'?"

Joust shook his head. "No. You weren't destined." He sighed. "At least, I imagine you weren't. I just happen to know that…well, I was supposed to get reaped today. Nobody was supposed to know my reaping was rigged, but…"

"I did," Buck said triumphantly.

"Yeah," the boy responded, his voice emotionless. "You did."

Buck nodded with a smile on her face. She was happy she figured it out; she was happy she uncovered one of the Capitol's many hidden tricks. But then she kept thinking, and as she did, another question came to mind. "But…why…were _you _chosen?"

Joust contemplated his answer for a minute. He didn't want to reveal anything to her; he didn't want to reveal anything to anybody. His past life just made him so angry that he felt re-opening that wound would only hurt his performance in the Hunger Games. But…perhaps it wouldn't, he realized. Perhaps it would serve only to rejuvenate him…to give him the will to win the games. "Because," he said abruptly. "The Capitol…will do anything to save itself. It will betray the people it knows the closest and leave them to die."

Buck didn't like his nonspecific answer. "Tell me," she insisted. Again, she folded her arms. "I want to know!"

She didn't need to even say that much, for Joust was already invigorated and ready to divulge everything. She could tell that, despite his inscrutable demeanor, something was firing him up; his brown eyes were open wider than before and voice was more emphatic than before. "I used to work for the Capitol," he said. "Ever since I was sixteen. I…I was an agent for the Capitol."

"An agent?"

"Like a spy."

"Wow!" Buck exclaimed. The concept felt foreign to her; being a butcher's daughter who spent all her days playing alone in the woods, working at the shop, or going to school, she thought of talking to a spy thrilled her. "How did you…become one?"

"The Capitol recruited me since I was a baby. It's all I've ever known. You see…" he sighed again, "I don't know my real parents. I only know…my Capitol parents. The people who raised me. The people who found me as an orphan and trained me to be a secret agent all my life. I loved them for it, too…I lived such an exciting life. But now…I hate them for it. Because…in the end, it doesn't matter who you are. If the Capitol doesn't want you anymore…well, this is what happens." He pointed to himself and at the train, and then in the direction of the Capitol.

Buck bit her lip. "What do you mean? What happened?!"

"They had me do some undercover operations in district fourteen. There was—well, it's complicated—but there was something illegal going on in one of the prisons, and so I was sent there by the Capitol to act as a Peacekeeper in training; apparently that's where Peacekeepers are taught about the brutality of their job. I dunno…that's what they said…" He took a breath and continued to reflect. "But then…my cover…well, it was blown right out of the water, and the next thing I know the latches on all the jail cells are released and the prisoners come out and attack us."

Buck looked up at him, her hazel eyes wide. "Well what did you do?!"

"There was a massive fight between the Peacekeepers and the prisoners. I saw people…I saw people get their heads split open, I saw people bleed to death right in front of me…it was the bloodiest and most gruesome day I ever saw. And…I killed _twenty prisoners_. Twenty! Would you believe that?!" He stood up from his bed, fuming, and walked over to his dresser. "And yet the Capitol _still _thought I was behind all that mess. They thought I was betraying _them_!" He found a few knick-knacks and accessories huddled together on his dresser, put one of his massive arms next to them, and swept them off across the room. Most of them shattered upon impact with the wall and floor. "So they put me in the Hunger Games! To teach me a lesson! I was the _hero _of that day! But they called me the _villain!_"

For a minute Joust stood, his fingers on his temples; then, he turned and faced one of the windows in his room. The rain outside seemed only to be picking up, much like his anger. Through the spidery raindrops that collected on the window he tried to remember the faces. The faces of those who betrayed him. The faces of the Capitol parents he called mom and dad for the first sixteen years of his life. And then he saw the face of the President.

"_You are a disgrace to the Capitol! We found you on the streets of district six to care for you and give you a home! Your parents trained you and fed you and clothed you! And then…you go behind the Capitol's back like this? You release the prisoners and get nearly _all _of the Peacekeepers working in the prison killed?!"_

"_I…I didn't." Joust looked dumbstruck. He didn't know what to say._

"_You did," Jayce clarified. "You were the only person found leaving the control room that day. We saw the videos. We saw the cameras. It must have been you."_

"_But…it wasn't. There…there must be some kind of mistake! I was never in—"_

"_We saw it, boy. Don't try to defend yourself now. You've dug yourself an even deeper hole than you could've thought." President Jayce paced in front of him. They were in her office, which felt darker and more sinister than it usually did. "So, for your punishment." She looked him directly in the eyes. "We will give you the worst kind of punishment. We will not execute you, no. We will not leave you to rot in prison, no. Your life will end…in the arena. You will be sent to the Hunger Games, where the entirety of the Capitol will be able to mock and laugh at the boy who betrayed the Capitol." Jayce put a finger to her lips, opened her eyes wider, and said in almost a whisper, "I've heard…that the Hunger Games drive people insane. So insane…that even the most mentally fortuitous crack under the pressure. And then…their conscious sneaks up behind them, and reminds them of everything they should have done differently in life. It drives them to the point…of not even being able to trust their own minds." Her voice became even more quiet then. "In the two hundred and one years of the Hunger Games, there have been over three hundred and fifty tribute suicides, Joust." _

Joust turned from the window. He didn't want to see that face anymore; he frowned and pulled away from the window, turning back to Buck. But she was gone. He didn't know where she went…but she was gone. It was like she abandoned him…or maybe he scared her. He didn't know…but he felt an icy chill in his room that evening.

And as he returned to his bed, to hopefully fall asleep early that night…he heard a voice. The voice sounded so real. He felt he could have touched it. He felt she was in the room with him right then and there…

"_Thank you, Joust…for giving me the theme of this year's Hunger Games."_

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**Dun...dun...dunnnnnnn.**

**Anyway, thanks guys for the epic tributes who I L-O-V-E-D! They were fun to write and they will make AWESOME additions to the fic! I'd love to hear what everyone thought of the latest chapter and...I decided on a very interesting question this time around: Out of the twelve tributes, which one of them would you want to date if you got the chance?  
**

**Mwahahahahaha! Thanks!**


	11. District 7

**Okay, I know I've told you guys this before, but your tributes are AWESOME. Honestly, I can go on and on and on and on about them, because they never get old! Every single tribute has been so expertly crafted by their creators that I feel it is going to be I-M-P-O-S-S-I-B-L-E to kill ANY of them off! So thank you guys for making me get sooooooooooo attached to your characters!  
**

**Anyway, that's my speech. Hope you enjoyed it. Moving on to district 7 now. Also, this chapter marks the half-way point for the tributes! 14/28 tributes have now been uploaded!**

**Slappinthebasson: Ah, your reviews are ALWAYS appreciated! I am so glad to hear from you! Anyway, thank you for your compliments on the chapter and for letting me know about your opinions and whatnot! Can't wait to write your other tribute, by the way! Thank you for your review!**

**ghostleon: I want to thank you, first off, for your very gracious review and comments! :) I like what your said about Buck's backstory (and how you say you know a lot of people like that!), and I am sooo happy you liked the way I wrote your tribute! Yes, Joust played a very important part in the theme of the Hunger Games, actually! So thank you again!**

**HeyyMan: YES! Good to hear from you! I'm glad you're reading and I'm glad you're looking forward to the story! It makes my day to hear from you guys and to know that you're still reading, so thank you for letting me know! Can't wait to write your other tributes! Thanks for the review!**

**x FallingAshes x : Ahh, I'm glad you liked it! I was hoping the finale would be chilling, hehe ;) And I like to hear that it was your favorite chapter, too! Anyway, thanks for your opinions on Joust/Buck, and there's something else that is verrrrry interesting that you said in your review that I liked, too! :) And I also found your answer to the question fascinating, but at the same time understandable. Since I know pretty much everything there is to know about all the tributes, I can kinda see where you're coming from with what you said. Anyway, no worries about your friends! Hope to hear from them soon and can't wait to write they're tributes, hehe. I have some ideas...thanks for your review!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, PeenissandClato, for both the district seven female and the district seven male.**

* * *

**District 7  
**

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**Jocileia "Chay" Amacrox, age 18 (District 7 Female)**

"_Chay, you're _so_ lucky." It was her best friend, Alexandria, who spoke. The girls, along with Chay's younger sister, Ariela, had gathered together their best girlfriends that night for one of their monthly sleepovers. Being the mayor's daughters, Chay and Ariela were able to throw the most impressive and exciting parties whenever they wanted, and as long as they didn't bother their father, they could run the house. "It is _loud _in here, girl!" Music was blasting and lights were shining all over the rec room in the mansion; it was like a nightclub for teenage girls._

_Chay stood up. "Alex, how do I look?" The fourteen year old girl spun around on the dance floor, letting her curly brown hair flit about like an opened parachute. She had her eyes closed, soaking up the fun of night. Before Alex could respond, Chay ran off to some of her other girl friends, screaming and shouting things about the party. "I'm not going to bed tonight! I'm serious! We're staying up _all _night."_

_On the other side of the room, Ariela turned to Alexandria and said, "My sister is crazy." Then she laughed._

"_I know!" Alexandria agreed, a smile on her face. "She _is_ crazy…but so optimistic and carefree. I guess that's what happens when you're the mayor's daughter, huh? All rich and stuff?"_

"_Yeah," Ariela sighed. "Still, I don't know where she gets her energy from. She's always so happy. _Always._" And then she looked at her big sister, who was dancing and smiling and yelling crazily with the other girls; Ariela just smiled. She loved to see her sister look so happy._

"What's your name?"

The girl on the other side of the table looked down at her plate. Her curly hair was slightly covering her brown eyes and the scowl on her face. Jocileia didn't really want to be there; she had been hiding in her room like a recluse all day, ignoring the district seven boy as best she could. But when she saw him a few times walk past her room, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt; she decided to talk to him. Perhaps he wouldn't be so bad, she had thought.

But now she just felt sick. It was a mistake; she didn't need anyone in the games. She didn't need a teammate and she didn't need a friend; she should have stayed where she was, she decided. The girl said coldly, "It's Jocileia." She poked at the food on her plate with a sigh and a smirk. She tried to look up at the boy to see how he reacted to her stubbornness; she almost wanted him to get unfriendly with her. "Didn't you pay attention at the reapings, Tobius?"

The boy just frowned; he looked no happier than she did. "I was just making conversation, _Jocileia_."

**Tobius Gallagher, age 18 (District 7 Male)**

_Laércio Migon sat at the kitchen table watching his mom cook for his family the scraps of whatever food they had managed to salvage. His dad was at work, managing the family's library for countless hours, as he did each day. Often Laércio and his brother helped him, but that night their father insisted they rest. They were a poor family, yes, but their hearts and love for each other filled any kind of vapid monetary hole in their caring lifestyle._

"_How was your day, honey?" his mother asked; she looked tired, but tried her best to stay optimistic for her children. Laércio loved her dearly for that._

"_It was good, thanks," he answered politely. He smiled up at her. Despite the fact they were a poor family, Laércio did enjoy his life. He loved his parents and brother, and his good friend Fabian. "Do you need help?"_

_His mother smiled gently at him and shook her head. She walked over to the kitchen table slowly—she had a slight limp—and patted him on the head, her mind elsewhere. Laércio could tell she seemed distraught, and asked, "You okay?"_

_For a moment she remained voiceless. Then she smiled down at him. "Yes, I'm okay." The woman ruffled his fluffy brown hair and laughed as he pulled away. She looked at him for a second, as though she were trying to burn his image into her memory. He was only fourteen then, but she knew he was going to grow up to be a great man. He was tall, strong from chopping wood, and responsible. He would turn out to be a great person, she decided. A great person…_

The boy stared at Jocileia through his unmoving, crystalline blue eyes; he stared at her face, at the emptiness in her dark brown eyes, at the light freckles that dotted her cheeks, and at the perpetual scowl on her face. For a second the boy didn't do anything, but then he scoffed at her. The two were miserable, and it seemed they only wanted to persist with their game of staring rather than construct a plan of action for the arena.

Jocileia just shuddered as she looked at him. It didn't matter that he looked strong, tall, and even rather attractive. She didn't care who the district seven boy was; he would never be a friend of hers, nor would he ever hold a place in her heart. "Well, we can sit here all day…or we can do something useful. It seems like you don't want me around, so I'm going back to my room." As she spoke her words, she kept a careful eye on how he reacted, wanting to see how infuriated he got with her. But she didn't stand up.

The boy merely buried his head in his hand and shrugged, using his other hand to mess with his fluffy blonde hair. He didn't even give her a second look. Jocileia, even _more_ annoyed at her decision to leave her bedroom, noticed the way he ignored her and said, "Don't you have anything to say?"

"_Father, I would like to ask you a favor." It was Fabian Amacrox who spoke. He was Jocileia's older brother, fifteen years of age. He spoke with politeness—he was a kind, gentle boy—but also trepidation—he feared his father. The mayor, Jack Amacrox, bade him speak, annoyed by his son's time-consuming asking. "May I please invite a friend over today? We would like to listen to some of the music in the library. He has a keen ear for good classical com—"_

"_Yes," his father said quickly, looking at Fabian through his beady brown eyes, and then back down at his paperwork. The man was bald and always hunched over, probably from poring over scandalous political documents every day. "Just stay out of my hair. I'm busy. Tell your sisters, too: I don't want any interruptions. I have a lot of work to do."_

"_Yes, father…" The boy said quickly, turning to the door. But Fabian must've been walking too slowly, for his father issued another direction order for him to "get out!"_

_In the hall, Fabian encountered Jocileia talking exuberantly to Alexandria. "Hello, Chay," Fabian said slowly. "Father is busy in his office. He wants…that we not disturb him."_

"_I would have guessed as much," the girl said, not sounding surprised in the least. "What did you need from him?"_

"_I asked him if I could let a friend over…"_

_Jocileia giggled. "Oh, Fabian. Is it to listen to that silly music of yours?" She winked at him and punched him playfully in the arm. Being the wild, popular girl she was, she always found Fabian's beautiful, classical music to be "dreadfully boring."_

"_Yes, yes," he said, trying to act like he didn't hear her. "I'll leave you to whatever you girls are doing…" And then he walked away, leaving Jocileia laughing jokingly at him. She really loved her brother, and she knew he loved her, despite the way she always poked fun at him. Other than her father…she really loved all of her family. She didn't know what she would do if she couldn't stay up late with Ariela, or play games outside with Fabian, or go shopping with her mother._

"You're just going to ignore me?" Jocileia asked, a little louder this time; Tobius liked that. He liked when Jocileia wasn't her quiet, normal self. But still, the boy said nothing. He stared down at his empty plate and let her cold stare wash over him. "Well, then I'm leaving," she said again. This time she stood up and began walking away.

"Look," the boy said as she walked. "The reapings." He pointed to the television screen at the end of the room. Jocileia turned to him at first, then slowly cast her gaze on the TV program. The Capitol was playing the district reapings over and over again, in an endless loop, for twelve hours. "There you are," he said. Indeed, on the television screen, Jocileia was being called by the escort.

"Yeah…that's me." The girl glared back at the boy. She didn't know what kind of game he was playing with her, and she certainly didn't like it. "What's your point?"

"Who are those people?" Tobius asked. The camera was showing the faces of a devastated mother, sister, and brother. A wealthy-looking man stood near the mother, sulking and muttering something to himself in frustration.

"My family," the girl answered quietly and with incredulity. "Why?"

The boy didn't answer her. Again, he turned his gaze upon his empty plate, his empty glass, the table cloth…anything. He just didn't want to look at Jocileia. Then she repeated her question, loud again. For a second Tobius was quiet, and only the near-muted sounds of the television could be heard. Then he said, "I wanted to hear what you would say about them."

_Laércio waited by the tree in front of his house. His best friend, Fabian Amacrox, said he would return shortly. Being the mayor's son, Fabian explained that he needed his father's approval before he could invite people to the house. Laércio didn't complain; he had never had the honor of stepping foot inside the mayor's mansion, and being from a nonwealthy family, was more than willing to wait._

_Fabian returned shortly thereafter, humming one of his favorite tunes. "Ahh…Laércio! My father sees no problems with you coming to the mansion!" Fabian was excited to spend the day with his friend listening to music and enjoying what he considered the "finer things in life." _

_The two reached the mansion quickly, and Laércio was immediately awestruck by the building's colossal size and impressive frame. Standing outside the mansion, he complimented Fabian on the beautiful architectural lines of the house; when he wasn't speaking, his mouth was hanging open. Laércio had seen the mansion before, but he had never once been able to cross the expansive outer grounds and walk up to the doorstep. It amazed him._

_And of course, the interior fascinated him just as much. "Fabian…this…" He was about to finish his comment when he heard a loud, energetic female voice echo between the walls of the museum-like foyer. The girl who spoke seemed to be talking with another girl, neither of whom noticed Fabian or Laércio until they walked in the foyer as well._

"_Hey, Fabs," the zestful girl said, smiling at her brother. Then she looked at the boy standing next to him; for a second her train of thought was lost, and nothing more came out of her mouth. Then she said, "Fabian, won't you introduce me to your friend?"_

"Why did you want to hear what I said about my family? I don't understand."

"You don't understand much, do you?" Tobius answered, his face unmoved. He snickered at her then, and Jocileia looked offended.

"You know, I came here to open up to you. Maybe to meet someone new. I didn't want to, but I did. And this is how you speak to me? I don't want to see you in that arena, Tobius," she said, her hands tapping constantly against her leg so as to quell her frustration. She was still standing up, halfway between the door and the boy she realized she severely disliked.

"Okay," he muttered. "So be it. Leave. Go away. Maybe I don't want to see you either."

"_Whatever!" _Jocileia snapped, turning around quickly. "I hate you! You're so difficult!"

"Walk away," Tobius said loudly. "Go back to your room!"

Jocileia screeched as she slammed the door to the dining room shut. Then Tobius heard her yell, "You're not my father!" And then she was gone. It was quiet, then, in the dining room. Tobius sighed heavily, the wheels in his mind turning; he thought about the way he treated Jocileia. He wasn't sure if he liked it.

_Laércio and Jocileia loved each other. "Call me Chay," the girl told him the day they met. And so he did, without any complaints or hesitations; Laércio thought both of her names were beautiful. "Just like you," he would always say. He admired her curly brown hair, and thought the faded freckles on her face were cute. And Chay loved him, too. He was tall and strong, but so very kind. She loved to run her fingers through his soft, fluffy brown hair and sing to him. She had a beautiful voice, Laércio recognized._

_The two did everything met each other after school in the park and went on long walks. They played games in the woods. They were the perfect match for each other, coupling each others' strengths and weakness. Chay introduced him to all of her friends, teaching him how to have fun and let loose. Laércio taught her to appreciate the little things in life, like a satisfying dinner, or a beautiful sunset. Or most important, the value of family._

_But it was not easy. Chay knew that she couldn't bring Laércio around her unforgiving rather. Even if the man didn't care an ounce for her, he still never would have allowed her to love such a poor boy. All the time they spent together had to be done in secret. They met when her father was out of town, or when he was swamped with so much work he cared little about checking up on his children. Chay snuck out of her mansion at night sometimes, even. On those nights, she always wondered what life would be like without her father. Just her brother and sister and mother. She knew her mother would never reject Laércio…her mother was kind, she was gentle. But she was wrapped around her father's finger just like everyone else in that town was._

Tobius thought about his life. He thought about it all. He thought about his friends and his family, and everything that went wrong. He wanted to go back in time. Not to fix anything, no. He had no regrets. But…he just wanted to spend another day with her. The _real _her.

And them.

_Ashes. That was all. There was nothing else. Not a single speck of something recognizable. There was no kitchen table, where he and his father often played cards on a beautiful night. There was no living room, where he and his family spent hours together every day, loving each other all the while. And there was no family library…that, too, was burned down._

_Laércio kneeled in the heap of ashes with his hands covering his face. The fire was gone, thanks to the Peacekeepers; they had long since left, not even bothering to help the poor boy when they found him crying outside his home. For a while there were neighbors—nosy people—snooping around the rubble. But they were gone, too. _

_It was the middle of the night, and Laércio had nowhere to go. He had no home to return to. But he didn't care about that. He didn't care about what petty things inside his house he lost. It all seemed so meaningless. Everything did. The concept of money, the concept of materialism. He cried that night for hours, praying that maybe he would get lucky. He prayed that maybe some of the hot ashes would unexpectedly go ablaze…and kill him, too. He prayed that maybe luck would be kind…and lead him to the afterlife…where he could see his family again._

Tobius shuddered; life seemed so meaningless. It seemed so pointless now. What was there to enjoy in life if everything good was gone? If all the kindness in the world had evaporated? He thought long and hard about that, but was afraid of the conclusion.

_Laércio found the Community Home a day later. He cried himself all the way there, and cried as he looked up at the dilapidated building that would be his home. But he didn't care what his home looked like…he just cared about who was inside. Or rather…lack thereof._

_And that was when he lost it._

_He hated Mayor Amacrox; he hated him in every way he loved his family. But it was too late. Laércio could scarcely live his life anymore. Chay was gone…she thought he was dead, he knew. She thought he too died in the fire. But he couldn't go back to her…he loved her still, with all his heart, but he knew their love could not go on. For not only his sake…but for hers._

_But he knew he couldn't abandon her. It wasn't Chay who burned his house down. Laércio knew the girl's life changed that night. He had watched her in town years afterward from afar. She no longer walked with a group of friends. She rarely even walked outside at all. He heard all of the girls Chay introduced to him, all of her friends, speak badly about her, as though they had never been friends with her at all. They complained of her attitude…the way she never wanted to see them…and the insulting things she said to them after his "death." _

_And what hurt Laércio the most was when he saw Alexandria walking with another girl every day. A new best friend. She even called her that…someone she cared about more than Chay. Laércio didn't know the specifics as to what drew Alexandria and Chay apart, but he knew it mustn't have been good; from what the other girls gossiped, Chay had turned into a cruel, arrogant girl overnight._

_Laércio had to do something for her; he couldn't just watch as she wallowed in depression. He often sent her letters addressed from some of the other girls in her classes requesting that they resume their friendship. When he heard that Chay was beginning to fail her courses, he disguised himself as another boy from her school and explained to Chay's mother that her daughter needed her parental love (of course, he waited until Mrs. Amacrox was far outside the mansion). But even though he was helping Chay…he still felt a massive void in his soul. The Community Home…was not _his_ home._

Tobius looked up, his eyes fastened on the television screen. There was a fire in his eye that glowed brighter with each passing second of the reapings. The Hunger Games…they ruined families. They tore children from their parents and siblings and cast them off to die. That year, Tobius realized, twenty-six more families would be destroyed at the hand of an unfair upper power. He couldn't let that happen…he couldn't let that happen twenty-six times over…

_Days and weeks and months passed, and the boy was still not accustomed to the Community Home. Laércio couldn't walk past someone without thinking of his brother, or his father, or his mother. He couldn't sit down and eat a meal without remembering his mother's cooking. And he couldn't read a book…because with each turn of a page, he thought about his family's library, and the way it looked as it burned to a pile of ashes._

_He hated everyone in the Community Home. When they wanted to talk to him, he scoffed at them and took off. He got in fights with some kids over petty arguments, and yelled at the others whenever he saw the face of his brother in one of theirs. They hated him, and he hated them. He hated everyone._

_During the very first night he spent in the Community Home, he realized he had to change. He knew he couldn't live the life of Laércio Migon any longer. He knew Mayor Amacrox would come after him. He knew he would come after the poor boy from district seven if he thought he was still alive. That night, Laércio changed everything. He dyed his hair blonde…he changed the way he was around people. And…he changed the way he looked at life._

_His prayer came true that night: the boy named Laércio Migon died in that fire. _

_And so Tobius Gallagher was born._

* * *

**Honestly, guys. I love these tributes. HOW AM I GOING TO BE ABLE TO KILL ANY OF THEM OFF?! Can't twenty eight tributes win the Hunger Games this year? Do you think that would be a bad plot twist? Huh...maybe. **

**Anyway, I'd love to hear from you, of course, because your reviews honestly make the world go round! (okay, not really, but they always make me smile!) And...now that we're half way through the tributes, my question is...which district has the best tributes, combined, as a whole?**

**Thank youuuuuuuu!**


	12. District 8

**W00t! New chapter! Sorry for this long-ish wait. I really wanted to get this chapter posted faster, but some things came up, and, well, yeah. Anyway, I'm SUPER EXCITED to announce the district 8 tributes (only 6 more of these to go!). I really really like this chapter and-what a shock-it's going to be like death trying to kill these tributes off. Can't wait for THAT part. :'(**

**Slappinthebassmon: Hi! Thanks for the review and thanks for answering the question. Your answer definitely makes sense (I mean, it's district two, after all!), so we'll see how that pans out. Anyway, yeah, the Tobius/Chay storyline is definitely an intriguing one that I can't wait to write and explain to you guys. Anyway, thanks for the review (and your next tribute is coming up kinda soon-ish too!)**

**T1nyDanc3r: Welcome back! GREAT to hear from you; yeah, school work sucks :/ Glad you like Tobius, also. Yeah, his storyline (along with several others) have a lot of grief and sadness within it. I'm glad you felt bad for him, hehe. And yeah, District 2 is a pretty popular answer for that question, so it seems like you pretty much agreed with the majority! That's good, right? Anyway, thanks for your review, and...tada! Your next (awesome) tribute!**

**HeyyMan: Thank you for your review! I'm glad you're enjoying how the story is turning out! Hope you enjoy how your tributes turn out, as well. ;)**

**ghostleon: Thank you for your review, of course! I also rather enjoyed the answer to your question; I think that maybe it's a good sign if one district doesn't have any stand-out tributes. Anyway, I believe your next tribute is in this chapter, yes? He was awesome to write, by the way! Thanks for your review!**

**x FallingAshes x : Ahhh I'm glad you liked D7! Yeah, that one had a pretty powerful storyline what with the intense situation going on with the tributes. Kudos to their creator! I'm really glad you liked the tributes, and, yeah, it's going to be pretty much impossible for me to kill any of them off. That'll be the toughest part, no doubt. :/ I hope you're looking forward to district 14, because I am too! ^^ Thanks for the review!**

**CelestelzaFanLolz (9): Ahh yes there are quite a few themes going on in the arena this year. I think it's going to make it really emotional and intense and awesome, but at the same time, REALLY sad. Because, you know...it's the Hunger Games, and basically everyone has to die. :( Thanks for your review!**

**ShootingforWishingStars: Woah. And I mean WOAH! THAT REVIEW WAS HUGE AND AWESOME! Okay, where to start, where to start...Well, yes, the Carmili/Max situation will certainly be very intense. I mean, if there can only be one victor...then that means one of them will have to die, and then crazy things will have to happen! We shall see...Also, to answer your question about Jade, yes, she is the mayor's daughter (you did read that correctly, hehe). I'll make more mention of it later in the story, too! :) I also really like what you said about Calix's character. I'm glad you're not a big fan of his family, hehe, because yeah, they do kind of suck! Also, I totally hear what you're saying about D6 contributing the most to the plot, especially Joust's part. I think you'll see how everything goes and I think all your questions will be answered soon. :) And last but not least, I really liked what you said about Tobius/Chay. I think your opinions are pretty spot-on and I realllllly enjoy reading them! Your reviews in general are always very fun to read, so THANK YOU!**

**BecauseofKillianJones: W00t! Great review! I'm glad you like Joust and Buck and I still really like the way you keep giving them the ratings. And I like the speculations/guesses/wishes you're making for the tributes too! It really shows that you're seriously considering how this fanfic will turn out, and I LOVE IT (all of you guys are awesome!). And I think D4 and D7 are some pretty solid (and sensible) answers for the question. I mean, they're strong tributes, right? We shall see, I guess! Thanks for your review, as always (and I believe you have another tribute coming up very soon!)**

**CeleselzaFanLolz (1): I PMed you the answer to that question. ^^ Will also be explained down the line.**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, T1nyDanc3r, for the district eight female, and thank you, ghostleon, for the district eight male.**

* * *

**District 8**

* * *

**Catalina "Catie" Perez, age 17 (District 8 Female)**

It was a cold day, she thought. The rain, maybe, gave the day the icy chill she felt it had. But she wasn't afraid of the cold, nor was she afraid of the Hunger Games; Catalina was a volunteer, after all. Only…she didn't know she was going to be one.

"_Catie…why can't they just let the people who want to be in the games put their name in the bowl…and leave everyone who doesn't want to out?" It was her best friend, Lavender, who spoke. The girl made a disgusted face and pulled her sunhat down over her eyes. It wasn't a very warm day; no reason for a sunhat, Catie thought. _

"_Because that's not how the Capitol works." The girls were sitting on a bench in the park; they always did that together before the reapings, though neither knew why. " You know that." Catie spoke the last sentence with such venom in her voice that Lavender looked concerned._

"_Catie…please." Lavender looked her friend directly in her crazed hazel eyes. "Don't do anything stupid this year," she warned. Catie just shrugged her shoulders. "You remember last year…"_

_Yes, Catie did remember last year. She remembered it well._

Catalina was in front of the mirror. For a second, she just looked at herself, thinking. She knew the girl she saw staring back at her had the skills and expertise to win the Hunger Games. That girl in the mirror was a fighter, Catalina knew; she could hold her own in the arena, no doubt. She wasn't afraid of the mutts or the blood and the gore, and she certainly wasn't afraid of the Capitol's domineering threats.

Catalina had made that very obvious last year…last year at the reapings. The boy who had been reaped—a frail, twelve year old kid who she knew must've lived a horrible life—was blind. And when the escort had asked the Peacekeepers on stage if the boy was a valid tribute, they merely scoffed at her and said, "His name was in the bowl, wasn't it? Blind or not, the kid's a tribute. Capitol says so." He had said it so loudly, too…so loudly that everyone—all the boys and girls looking up on stage—heard him. No one knew how to react. Except one girl.

"Are you serious?! This has to be a joke! He can't be a tribute! I don't care what the Capitol wants! They're just a bunch of stuck up snobs, and these games are just their f***ing sadistic entertainment!"

Catalina realized she did remember that day well. She played the memory over in her mind without ever questioning its validity; that day was a part of her, for better or for worse. After she yelled at the Peacekeeper, she remembered, he leapt off the stage and chased her from the square. Catalina was agile—she thought she was going to get away—but then before she knew it, Peacekeepers were flanking her from every direction. And then she was caught.

And then she was whipped.

Catalina turned around and pulled up the back of her shirt; the whip marks were still so visible, as though she had gotten them just yesterday. They looked like big spiders crawling up her back, like the rain on the window as it rolled down the glass. They were no longer bright red as they were when she got them, but now dark brown and repulsive. She wondered if they would ever go away…or if they would be a part of her forever. And if they were…she would be happy. Happy to have that memory of the day she defied the Capitol.

The girl sighed and turned back around. Catalina straightened her wavy black hair and let it fall against her cinnamon-colored skin, dotted with a few freckles. She liked the color of her skin; she felt it made her look tough, like someone who didn't want to be double-crossed. And the scar…she examined herself closely in the mirror. The scar above her eyebrow…she hated getting it, but she almost liked wearing it.

Hit in the face by a piece of scrap metal in a back alley in district eight. Stupid Raven Trill. Catalina had chased that girl long and hard before tackling her to the ground and laying ruin to her. But then Raven had grasped her only salvation—that piece of metal—and smacked Catalina in the face with it. But in the end…Catalina knew Raven wasn't as tough as she said she was. Catalina beat her…she knew she did.

"_I'll be careful this time," Catalina lied. If the Capitol did anything she felt was wrong, she'd make another scene. She wasn't afraid of getting whipped again. It would just be another badge of defiance she'd be able to wear._

"_And don't get in any more fights," Lavender reminded her. She pointed to the scar above Catie's eyebrow. "You don't want that to happen again."_

"_I was protecting you," Catie reminded her. "That girl was insulting you. Calling you things that—"_

"_I know,I know. But violence isn't always the answer. Just remember that, please. Especially if you get reaped."_

Catalina loved Lavender. She really did. But sometimes, she felt she was wrong. Sometimes, violence really _was_ the answer. A person couldn't just live their life fearing other people; if they wanted to prove that they were cut out for the world, they needed to pick a fight or two here and there. Or a few dozen, in Catie's case.

Anything to keep her friends and family safe, in the very least. So that morning, when the escort put her hand into that bowl…when she fingered around for that slip of paper…and when she proclaimed "Lanvender Jenks" as happily as ever…Catalina knew what she needed to do.

The words "I volunteer!" played through her mind over and over again. It wasn't a mistake, she knew. Many kids, Catalina felt, would regret volunteering, giving up their freedom, and opening their lives completely to the Capitol. But she knew Lavender couldn't have survived in the games; Lavender couldn't hurt a fly. But Catalina knew that she, herself, could fight. She didn't regret volunteering. She didn't feel like she was giving up her freedom. And she didn't care if she opened her life to the Capitol, anyway: she had nothing to hide from them.

_There were tears. Many of them. Catalina felt the embrace her little sister was giving her—the warmth of her love—and didn't want to let go. Bianca-Marie hugged tighter. Catalina couldn't lose her sister; she _couldn't_. "Please come back. Please come back…"_

"_I'll will. Safe and sound. Don't you worry about me…" Catalina herself was a little choked up. She cared greatly about few people. Her friends and her family were those people. But her little sister…dear fifteen year old Bianca-Marie, held an extra special place in her heart._

"_Do you promise? Do you _promise?_" Bianca-Marie hugged her tighter, tears streaming down he face. Catalina didn't know the answer to that question. There would careers of all ages in the arena…bloodthirsty kids who loved nothing more than to see other kids weep. _

"_I promise." And then they released their hug, and Bianca-Marie rubbed away the remaining tears on her face. Catalina felt bad, she did. She felt like she did something wrong by volunteering. No. She couldn't have. Lavender would have died. She knew that. Besides, it was too late to turn back, even if she wanted to…_

"_Here," her sister said in between sniffles. She pulled something out her shirt pocket, something small, but something meaningful. She dangled it in front of Catalina for a second, and then the girl took it. It was a silver ribbon; it didn't matter what it was, she realized. Whatever she held in her hand that day…whatever Bianca-Marie had pulled out of her pocket…would always remind her of her little sister. "Keep this with you. It…it will protect you."_

_Catalina tied the ribbon to her wrist instantly, so she would always know it was with her. She looked down at her newly-received token and smiled. She looked back up at her sister, and then at the ribbon once more, as though trying to remember her sister's face within the fabric of the token._

_And when Catalina looked up once again, she saw another person in the doorway, looking as sad as her little sister did. It was Lavender. Lavender was biting her lip as she looked at the two girls in the room; it was obvious she had been crying. The girl walked over with trepidation at first, as though unsure of how to thank Catalina for volunteering for her. _

_But Catalina made the first move. She simply walked over and hugged her friend, as tightly as she had done her sister. "I just want to thank you…for everything you've done for me. You have honestly…saved my life. And my sister's, too."_

_Lavender was too choked up to respond at first. But when she let go of Catalina's embrace, she said, "Catie…thank you, too. For volunteering…for me. And…" She pointed up at the scar above Catalina's eyebrow. "For…watching my back."_

_Catalina grinned faintly._

"_But remember," Lavender said, her voice low. Catalina knew where this was going; it was Lavender's motherly words coming out again. The ones she was so used to hearing after she talked back at school, or yelled at other kids, or started fights in the middle of town. "Be careful."_

Lavender was more than a friend, Catalina realized. She was a sister, truly. She was always there for her when things were awful. She was always keeping her out of trouble when she wanted to do something "bad." And most importantly…she was there for her and her sister…when her mother wasn't.

It always made Catalina angry to think of her past. To think of her mother. That horrible woman probably drove her father to the grave, she thought. She hated her…she hated her so much…

For a few years their family was happy. For a few years their family was normal…but then her mother—that "horrible, vapid woman"—became a heavy drinker, an alcoholic. She was so _pretty_, too. Her mother, Catalina remembered, looked like a goddess. But then she threw it all away…she threw it all away and her daughters, too.

Catalina's father, James Perez, came to divorce her shortly after her down-spiral into alcoholism, taking his girls with him. But in only a year, he had passed away, and his daughters were forced to return to the only parent they had left: Perigina Grace, the former Perigina Perez.

But her alcoholism didn't stop. Not even for her daughters. Catalina thought her mom resented having them in her life; she didn't take care of them—that became Catalina's job, as her mother was usually passed out on the couch—and she didn't even try.

Catalina found it easy to hate her. She wanted a real mother. A true mother. Catalina's hatred for her only grew the older she and her sister got…but at least she and Bianca-Marie had a home. At the very least, they had shelter. But then things went wrong. Even worse than before…and that was when Catalina knew they needed to leave. They needed to get out of there; their mother wasn't just an alcoholic. She was a psychopath.

It was the very last day of June two years past. Catalina remembered the date well; she didn't know how she remembered it so clearly, but she did. That was night she had to tend to her little sister's wounds. That was the night she had to witness her over-drunk mother hit Bianca-Marie again and again and again and _again_…

But there was an angel on earth that night who was willing to help her. There was someone who was willing to give them a home where they didn't need to live in fear of an abusive parent.

And there was a reason Catalina called Lavender Jenks her best friend.

**Lokius Puliston, age 14 (District 8 Male)**

It was hard to watch. It really was. Lokius had been watching the reapings all day on the train. He didn't know why. He didn't want to study up on the tributes. He didn't want to get a feel for their strengths and weaknesses. For that matter, he hated the Hunger Games, and wanted nothing more than to go back home. He didn't want to be in the arena…the thought made him nervous and sick.

And then the reapings for district eight were shown. Lokius sat watching with one eye on the TV and another looking away shamefully. The girl, someone named Catalina Perez, had volunteered. He didn't know how she could do that. How she could muster the courage to throw herself into the game like that. He sure wished someone had volunteered for him…

_And then his name was called by the escort. The cameras zoomed in on a curly-haired redhead from within the crowd. The stark-white, pale boy standing with the other fourteen year olds froze for a second, stunned. For being so pale, it was hard to believe he could've looked even paler. _

_But then he began to run, away from the town square. He found a building in which to hide, but he wasn't getting away. Seconds later he found himself cornered by a platoon of Peacekeepers staring down angrily at him, their faces cold and unmoving. They asked him ungently to follow them out, and as much as he didn't want to, he complied. _

_Back at the square, the boy walked to the stage awkwardly with his hands at his sides; he was nervous, and he was letting it show. And he felt so embarrassed. He wasn't cut out to be a tribute; he was so skinny and weak, he knew. He was just fodder for the games, someone the Capitol could feast their eyes upon in wait for his death._

_From the stage, the boy didn't look out into the crowd; he couldn't. He kept his green eyes looking at his shoes, and his curly red hair barely covering part of his face. Everyone's eyes were on him. They were watching him and condemning him, he thought. Condemning him to a quick and unfortunate end._

Lokius winced; now he felt even more apprehensive about going into the games; watching the highlights on TV just scared him. He didn't want to die…but he didn't know how he could live. He was no fighter; the best he could do in the arena was show off what archery skills he had.

Lokius picked up his feet from the floor and put them on the chair with him. Then he wrapped his arms around his legs, buried his head in his shirt, and tried to forget about everything. He tried to forget where he was. He tried to forget that he was going to die. Instead…he tried to remember his sister, and all the times they had shared together when he was younger. Oh, how he hated the Hunger Games…

_Audrey jumped as she heard the door close and the pitter-patter of footsteps that led to the upstairs. And then she heard another door shut, and then…silence._

_She was with her mom in the sewing room, a small little room near the back of their house where her mother did all of her dress-making. Both Audrey and her mom looked at each other with a hint of sadness in their eyes. "That was Lokius," Audrey said. "He's home from school."_

_Normally the boy would have been excited to get home. He would have been excited to see his parents and his sister, and then to ask Audrey to play a game with him, or to go to the park. And of course, she would always say yes, because she loved her little brother, and he loved her. But that day was different…it was a day Audrey recognized well. And she _hated_ those days._

"_I'm gonna talk to him," Audrey said. After years of knowing her brother, she knew that her talking to him would make him feel like life was still worth living. His parents would make him feel better, yes, but Lokius didn't look at them the same way he did Audrey. He looked at his parents as parents. But he didn't look at his sister as only a sister. No…he looked at her as a friend. A _best _friend._

It hurt him to remember her, but at the same time it made him happy. He tried to believe Audrey was still with him, somehow, to help him get through the tough days. To spend time with him every day after school, where they could laugh together and play games together as all siblings should.

It seemed almost ironic. His sister…she had died two years ago at the hand of the Capitol. At the hand of the 200th Hunger Games. It wasn't even fair. Those games were supposed to be a quell. It was supposed to be an all-victor year. But no…President Jayce wanted to change things up. She wanted to throw in an extra twenty-eight tributes that year, just to spice things up. Of course she did, Lokius thought…of course she did.

And now, those two years later, Lokius, too, would suffer the same fate. He would die, as he sister did, at the hand of that vile Preisdent Jayce. He just hoped…that he wouldn't die a coward. That maybe, during his last few minutes on earth, he'd be able to feel like the bravest fourteen year old in all of district eight…

But in the end, he remembered, he would still die. He couldn't beat out twenty-seven other tributes; it just seemed so impossible. And then, when he died…his parents would be left without either of their children. They would be left even more depressed than they already were. They would have no one…

And Lokius knew too well what that felt like.

And so he decided he wasn't going to lose. He didn't know how we would do it, but he would do it. He would win, because no one deserved to live their life without someone to love…

"Hey." The sound of someone's voice nearly made Lokius jump out of his skin. He had been in such a deep trance that he almost forgot he wasn't the only person on the train. The boy turned around and saw that it was Catalina, the other tribute from his district. He saw the scar then above her eyebrow for the first time, but didn't say anything; it looked gruesome.

"Hi…" Lokius said slowly. Catalina then took a seat on his right and began to watch the reapings, but spent the majority of her attention watching Lokius. Then he said, "Umm…thanks for what you did…earlier today." He spoke the words quietly and almost ashamedly.

Catalina just laughed at herself, thinking about how angry her friend Lavender must've gotten when she made a scene that morning at the reapings. "It was nothing," she said reassuringly. For being such a tough-looking girl, Lokius thought, she sure seemed friendly. "Those other kids were jerks, anyway."

For a second Lokius smiled. She was right; they _were_ jerks. Those other kids had no right to make him feel like that. They had no right to make fun of him as they did. If they were in the Hunger Games, Lokius was sure they, too, would've been frightened.

"Can I rewind?" Catalina asked the boy. "I want to see how big of a fool I made of myself." Then she winked at him and chuckled again. Lokius didn't respond, for Catalina had already started rewinding. He wanted to stay with her, he did, but he really didn't want to see his reapings again. They just made him sad…

Lokius looked away. Catalina noticed this and said, "Don't worry. Don't feel bad." And then she pressed play. _Lokius watched as the escort called his name. Then the camera zoomed around the crowd until it finally found the boy it was looking for. All of the other kids around him giggled, looking at each other and whispering things amongst themselves. Some of the kids who Lokius knew very well—not for good reasons—even had the nerve to vocalize how they felt. "He's gonna start cryin' now." And then there was more name-calling, more laughing, and one of the fat bullies said something about his sister. When Lokius tried to run from the sqaure, a bigger boy shoved him, and another one tripped him._

Lokius pulled his face away from the TV screen; he couldn't watch this again. "Pssh," Catalina said. "Yeah, look at fat-boy trip you. You think he'd survive in the arena? Run for five seconds and he'd pass out." The girl sounded harsh and sharp with her words, but Lokius just smiled. He thought she was funny. And despite her sarcastic, almost dark attitude…he thought she was nice.

_The TV showed Lokius walking back through the crowd with the Peacekeepers who chased him down at his side. He looked depressed and scared, and felt even more terrible about himself now that he looked like such a coward. And of course, he heard more whispers and comments; talking about his hair, how pale he was, how skinny he was, how he had no friends…it didn't matter. There was no one nice in district eight. _

_Or so he thought._

"_Hey!" he heard someone yell. "Everyone just _shut up _and stop making fun of him! I don't see any of you volunteering yourselves! Why? You scared, huh? Yeah, I thought so! If you're "so much cooler than he is," why don't you man up and get on this stage?!"_

"_Missy, calm down," the escort said quickly and quietly. She tried to push Catalina away from the microphone, but the girl wasn't listening. A few Peacekeepers began to take her away, and as they did, she yelled a few more crude things that seemed to make everyone in the crowd instantly stop whispering. They were silent as Lokius walked up the stairs and onto the stage._

_It was the first time he remembered them that quiet._

Lokius whispered, "Thank you," as the district eight highlights finished playing.

He wasn't sure if Catalina heard him, but she said, "I just hate people like that. I hate bullies. If I could have, I would've beaten them up for you." She looked so serious that Lokius couldn't help but laugh a little. "Are they always like that?"

"Yeah…" he said meloncholically. "They always…are mean to me. For as long as I can remember…" It was true. Having gone through his school years with the same kids made it difficult for him to find friends. And once he was the established target…it was difficult to just be a normal kid again.

"Well, they suck." She looked at him and nodded seriously. She wanted him to know how vehemently she felt on the subject. "Well, I guess I didn't make myself look like too much of an idiot." Then she stood up. "I want to talk again tomorrow, before we reach the Capitol." She walked over to him and messed up his hair jokingly. He smiled up at her and she smiled down at him. "I'll probably be a loner in the arena. Not really looking for alliances," she said, "but if you see me, feel free to say hi. I won't hurt you, I promise." She began to walk out of the room, but turned around first and said, "I don't hurt the cool people."

And as she walked out, so confidently and bravely, as though she had not a care in the world, Lokius almost felt rejuvenated. He almost felt safe. As though her strength was giving him strength. For once, he didn't feel alone. He felt like there was somebody out there who cared for him again. Somebody like Audrey. A good person…a kind person. _A friend._

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**I'm just gonna say it yet again, in case you guys forgot: THESE TRIBUTES ARE AWESOME! Honestly, they're all soooo different and have such interesting storylines! At first, before I started the tribute chapters, I thought the task of writing 28 characters seemed rather daunting (I kept forgetting who was who and thought it was going to be impossible to remember everything). But that's not true at all! Honestly, I feel like I KNOW these tributes now, and I feel like I can remember everything about them because they are so well defined by their creators!**

**Anyway, I'd love to hear from you guys about the chapter. And...for the question (keep in mind this question is just for fun and will have no impact on who wins/loses. that's what the soon-to-be polls are for): Based on what you know of the tributes revealed so far, who wouldn't you mind seeing win the Hunger Games? Again, I know it might be a difficult question because you still don't really know that much about the tributes yet, but I was just wondering if any of them struck a chord with you guys thus far. **

**THANK YALL FOR READING!**


	13. District 9

**Howdy folks! I'm proud to present the district nine tributes! I really enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Hehe... ;)  
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**Anyway, I'm super pumped to finish the five remaining tribute districts (SO CLOSE!) and get started on the pre-game stuff. 'Cause, as you might have already guessed, there's gonna be some SERIOUS stuff going down. So yeah, that's my little spiel for this chapter. On to the reviews of the reviews! :0**

**CelestelzaFanLolz: Yay! I'm glad you said you wanted them to ally! Even though they're very different tributes, I can see how it would be cool to see them work together! Thank you for your review! :)**

**ghostleon: Yay! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter! And I'm glad you liked your tribute! Lokius was pretty awesome to write, especially because he's been so different from all the other male tributes so far. I think he will make a great addition to the Hunger Games! Thank you for your review!**

**x FallingAshes x : Hahaha I loved what you said about smiling like an idiot. That made me laugh! And yeah, I'm glad you enjoyed the Catie/Lokius relationship, because I think that they'd make a pretty interesting team, hehe, as long as they both survive the bloodbath! Also, I liked the list you gave of your favorite tributes. I feel like it would be a different list for everyone, which is cool! Thanks for your review!**

**T1nyDanc3r: W00t! I love making you happy! And yes, I must agree, that deciding on who dies and who lives is going to be D-I-F-F-I-C-U-L-T! I mean, it'll be quite a challenge, because I honestly want everyone to live! I don't think the President would like that, though, so... :/ Thanks for answering the question by the way and thanks for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, HeyyMan, for the district nine female, and thank you, BecauseofKillianJones, for the district nine male.  
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**District 9  
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**Cree "Ree" Jenson, age 14 (District 9 Female)**

"_You're going to come back to me. You know it." _

_Cree didn't know it. She wasn't sure. Maybe the Capitol would underestimate her too much. Maybe the other tributes would think she was weak and not consider her a big threat. That was likely. But it only annoyed her. Just because she was short and thin didn't mean she was weak. Oh no, it certainly did not._

"_I will," she said determinedly, her voice high-pitched and squeaky. She looked at her boyfriend through her blue-grey eyes and tried to read him. She wanted to know what he was thinking. She wanted to know if he truly thought she was going to make it out alive. "And then we can live in the Victors' Village together."_

_Christian nodded and smiled weakly. He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. She embraced him warmly, standing on her toes so she could rest her head on his shoulder. "Come back to me," he pleaded. "For your parents."_

_Cree let a small tear seep out from one of her eyes. Her parents…it was hard not to think about them…and hurt her a lot when she did._

"_Don't worry about me," Cree said, trying to reassure him. "I'll kill them. All those the tributes." She didn't sound as determined as she did before. "I'll kill them all."_

The girl was on her bed, sitting indian style and looking out across the room. She had her arms folded and her face contorted into an angry glare as she faced the door. Some of her long sunny blonde hair was covering part of her face, but she didn't bother to move it. For whatever reason, her subconscious, angry glare was directed at the door, as though she were angry at someone who just left her room.

But no one had been there. She was alone. With just herself, her mind, and her memories. And her hate.

It didn't make sense to her. Why was it fair for one person—or one group of people—to control all the power in Panem? For one person to practically own other people's lives and be able to kill them at their whim? And how did a person get so powerful, anyway? Why would all of the other people—the vast majority—let this one tyrant obtain all the power? She just couldn't wrap her head around it.

It was because of the Peacekeepers, no doubt, she decided. The select few who were given exceedingly high paychecks and the authority to hurt other people and do whatever they wanted. Those terrible people—those lackeys—are what protected the president. But if they just opened their eyes…if they only realized that they were the ones getting manipulated more than anyone else in all of Panem…the tyrant would fall.

Cree's arms were folded even tighter, then, showing off a little muscle. She hated the Capitol. She hated the President, too, for thinking she could do anything she wanted. But she hated the Peacekeepers most of all, for falling into President Jayce's trap. For playing into her deceptive hands. _What idiots_, she thought. _What complete idiots!_

They walk around all day with their weapons, looking tough and like no one can touch them. And then they go home to their families and probably brag about how many people's lives they've ruined. And then they laugh, because they know that there's nothing anyone can do about it. But Cree didn't like that. No, there _had _to be something someone could do about it. If not her, then _someone_.

Because people don't just die for no reason. Or, at least, they _shouldn't. _They shouldn't die like her parents did. She remembered it vividly—or at least as vividly as a six year old could possibly remember something. She remembered the tears and all the angst. But what she remembered most was wondering how she was going to live…and the feeling of being alone. The feeling of actually losing someone. Forever.

So at only six years old, Cree found herself in the Community Home. Surrounded by all the orphans who didn't have parents. But she _did _have parents. She _did_. She wasn't like those kids! She wasn't abandoned or left to rot in the middle of district nine! She had had loving parents! And then…and then they were killed. In the middle of the night, by a horrible Peacekeeper.

Her parents tucked her into bed the night they died; she remembered it precisely, somehow. The smile on her mother's face and the soft eyes of her loving father. They told her something that she couldn't recall, and then left her room, shutting the door behind them. And then next morning, they were no longer alive. For four long years, Cree never knew why or how they had died. But when the woman at the inn—Old Anna Appleby—saw Cree one afternoon walking through the alley behind her building, she revealed everything. She told her she heard a loud noise behind the inn one night, and that she saw her parents trying to steal a weapon from one of the Peacekeepers. And finally, that she saw her parents get brutally beaten to death by the Peacekeeper that night.

Of course, the old woman had used kinder words, but Cree had been old enough to know what she was trying to say. And all because they tried to steal one of the Peacekeepers' serrated shortswords, probably for work at home or something.

From that day onward, Cree couldn't look a Peacekeeper in the eye without wondering which one it was that killed her parents. She couldn't sleep at night without thinking about the way they must've been tortured in the alleyway. And she still didn't understand…wasn't there someone who could do something about it? Someone who could stand up to the Capitol, or change the way the country was run? She _needed _to find someone like that…because if she couldn't, she'd feel like her whole life was lived in vain.

But then she remembered something. There _was _someone. There was someone who hated the Capitol as much as she did, and who would have done anything to rebel against the Peacekeepers. It was someone she met that very morning. And it was someone she was going to speak with that very night.

**Leo Velveteen, age 12 (District 9 Male)**

"_And now, let us select the district nine male!" The over-excited escort waved her hand around the exterior of the bowl for a second as though trying to summon a specific slip of paper. When she had built up enough "drama," she dipped her hand into the glass sphere and snatched the paper directly on top, not even giving the others a second look. "And the male tribute is…Leo Velveteen!"_

_Almost instantly, the boys in the twelve-year-old section turned to the one in question: a tiny boy with short brown hair and dark brown eyes. The other kids would have thought him to look afraid, or to start crying as he usually did. But right then, he couldn't even conjure a tear. He could only conjure the feeling of his own helplessness, and turn that horrible feeling into anger. "I hate you! I hate the Capitol! They're monsters! They're—"_

_As the Peacekeepers did with everything they didn't like, they shut him up. They rushed from the stage and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him roughly through the crowd. The boy cried out at them, not wanting to comply, and a few tears started to fall from his eyes. But he couldn't fight back. And before he knew it, he was on the stage. But in the very least…he knew that the Peacekeepers were angry, that the Capitol hated him, and that the President must've been disappointed the speech she gave about rebelliousness that morning had no effect. If he didn't get sponsored, at least he wouldn't die without making a stand…_

It just wasn't _fair_. The Hunger Games didn't _need_ to exist. President Jayce did well to explain why they held the games each year, but Leo didn't buy it. She just tried too hard to press her point, he thought, and compromised the things any good leader should have cared about: forgiveness and family. But no…that didn't exist in Panem, apparently. There was no forgiveness for the "crimes" President Jayce insisted the rebels had committed two hundred years ago. And there certainly wasn't any value in family, and in people you love…

Leo was in his bedroom, trying to build up his confidence. He needed to convince himself that he was stronger than the Capitol. That he didn't need to live in fear, and that he didn't need to play the games as most tributes did. No…he would play the games like a rebel.

He didn't know _how_, though. He wanted so much to win the games, to be the victor who defied the Capitol and the President, but he found it hard to believe. He was short, standing just an inch over five feet, and had no discernible physical strength. He couldn't even fight—probably not even if he wanted to—and, although he didn't like to admit it, he was very scared, and just wanted to cry himself to sleep that night.

If he _could_ sleep, that was. It was only eight o'clock, and he was trying; he had his head rested against his pillow, but his eyes were darting around the room, not wanting to shut. He just couldn't stop thinking. Thinking about his parents…and especially thinking about his siblings.

And then he remembered why he hated the Capitol so much. Why he hated the President, and especially the games. He thought again of his older brother and older sister. Just two years apart…two years apart they had died in two separate Hunger Games._ Two dead kids from one family_. And now, three years later, Leo was there, too. Three _dead kids from one family._ He started to cry a little bit as the thought became more and more apparent in his mind.

When his brother had died, his parents were angry. They had become one of those families…one of those families whose child had died a horrible death in the games. One of the families the Capitol had interviewed after the games to "check up on them." And one of those families…who never thought they would _be_ "one of those families."

And then, just two years later, his sister was killed. So brutally, too, by some career who thought he was just _so_ strong. And the career didn't even blink an eye. He didn't care that he had a fifteen-year-old's blood on his hands. And then after she died, and after his parents were interviewed again…they broke down entirely. They hated the Capitol and the Peacekeepers and everything about how Panem was being run, and expressed it openly. They were no longer afraid of the repercussions of expressing how vehemently they hated the Capitol. Shortly thereafter, they were dubbed rebels by the Peacekeepers in their district. The Peacekeepers considered them outcasts, and did their best to ensure they led exceptionally difficult lives. Had Leo's parents done anything more than spew a few heated words, he knew they'd be on a train to district fourteen to live out the rest of their lives in prison. And…if he did die in the games…he knew his parents would take it further than just a few cutthroat remarks. Leo cried a little bit more, for not only his, but his parents' sake.

_Leo was being dragged onstage by the Peacekeepers after his outburst. One of them muttered something in annoyance about the screaming boy behind them: "It's the kid from that scum family. You know, the rebels."_

_Leo hated that. They always called his family "scum," or "trash," or any other detestable word in between. As far as the Peacekeepers were concerned, Leo knew, he and his family were just disposable wastes of life. And all because his brother and sister had been killed in the games. All because he was a part of a loving family that actually cared for each other. A loving family who spoke up and vocalized what was wrong about killing the children of Panem and leaving their parents with no reason to live. The Peacekeepers certainly made it seem like family was a bad thing._

_But in Panem, Leo remembered, family _was_ a bad thing…_

The boy rubbed his now-red and tear-stained eyes, trying to forget the life he had. He tried to forget that his brother and sister were dead, and he tried to forget that he too would die under the same hand that had killed them. Sadness…fear…anger…frustration…hate…helplessness. It was too much for the twelve year old.

_Knock! Knock!_ A rasp on the door almost made him jump. Leo timidly hopped off his bed and walked over to the door, almost afraid of whomever or whatever was on the other side. But when he opened it, he felt reassured. It was just Cree. No one scary, thankfully.

The girl stood almost an inch shorter than the boy and looked only slightly more muscular. She had bright blonde hair, olive colored skin, and most importantly, looked like she meant no harm. Leo faintly smiled at her, and told her she could come in. But Cree just looked disappointed, and slightly angry. She only stood in the doorway. "Were you crying?" she asked him.

Leo realized his eyes must've looked puffy and red, and tried to wipe them again. He wasn't sure why it mattered, but he meekly said, "Yeah." Then he sniffed and looked back at her with a hint of desperateness in his eyes. He didn't look determined or rebellious…he just looked depressed.

And then Cree realized this wasn't the boy she thought he was. She thought he was strong and willing to do anything to stand up for himself and for his friends. But no…he just looked pathetic, and like a crybaby. "Are you gonna cry in the games, too? You don't want to look like a weakling, do you?" Her voice was sharp and unforgiving. It was an understatement to say she was disappointed. And slightly annoyed.

"What?" Leo asked, almost surprised. He wasn't expecting this. He didn't like being accused. No. He felt like he was being attacked. He had felt so helpless already that the way she angrily intruded into his room and began condemning his actions just made him feel worthless and afraid. He felt like he couldn't it anymore…he was just so exhausted. The boy tried to shield it, but another tear began to form in his eye. "I don't know." He just wanted to end the conversation. He wanted to go back to his thoughts and dreams, where maybe he'd meet someone nice and friendly.

"The Capitol is gonna rip you apart!" she said bluntly. "You're gonna get killed so badly!" She stared daggers at him.

"Is that what you came here for? To tell me that?" Leo was crying again. He just didn't understand it.

Cree was in a huff; she sighed loudly, stepping closer to him in a threatening way. Leo backed up, now afraid, but Cree just shook her head. She couldn't stand it; Leo was supposed to be a rebel, but he just acted like a wuss. So much for finding a good ally, Cree thought. It was just such a waste…it was all so worthless. "Cry," she told him. "See what happens. If the Capitol thinks you're a baby, you're gonna get treated like one." By the time she finished speaking, her voice had become so high-pitched and forceful that she had to take a breath just to calm herself down. "The Capitol doesn't sponsor babies."

"I don't care!" Leo yelled back at her. And then he slammed the door in her face, locked it, and ran over to his bed, crying loudly and letting the tears fall. All of them. He didn't care if she heard him, or if she thought he was a baby. She could think whatever she wanted…

"Alright, don't open the door!" he heard her exclaim from the outside. He listened to her try the doorknob again, but he had locked her out. Then he heard her mutter something about him loudly for a few seconds, and then…there was silence. He wasn't sure if she was gone or not, but he certainly wanted to find out.

The boy cleared the tears from his eyes again and tip-toed off his bed toward the door. There was a tiny slit between the bottom of the wooden door and the floor that perhaps—if he tried hard enough—he could see through. With his dark brown eyes, the boy peered through the slit, looking for any signs of Cree. Thankfully, he didn't see anyone. He was safely alone.

Leo let out a relieved sigh, and sat up, still on the floor. He sat with his back against the door and his eyes focused on his bed across the room. His mouth hung open a little bit and his eyes widened ever so slightly as he stared subconsciously at a spot somewhere in the room.

_I'm not a weakling…_ He looked down at his arms and his skinny stature. _Well, just because I'm not huge doesn't mean I'm weak. I can survive in the games like anyone else can. I'm good at building traps, anyway. I bet Cree didn't know that! And I can hide, too, for a while, and wait. And then, all the careers and strong people will kill each other off in the beginning. So, maybe if I just hide, about half of the tributes will die. That's…what, fourteen? Yeah…five for the bloodbath, and then a bunch of careers and other kids who like to fight. Okay, so then I'm in the final fourteen. I could set up a few traps, or something, and pick off the others one at a time. And then during the day I could hide. I could make camouflage…I'm good at that. No one will see me. Or maybe I could try climbing a tree. And then if someone chases me…ughhh…I could try to run. I guess…or maybe I could lure them into a trap. Or maybe I could try fighting them, yeah? No…no, I won't do that. No, that's scary. But I could do something. I'll figure it out…I hope._

Leo picked himself up off the floor and walked over to his bed. He felt a little more calmed down; his heart had stopped racing and he had stopped crying. The boy then lay down on his bed again, trying to keep his mind thinking positively. He didn't want to think about Cree; she just made him angry. Instead, he thought about the Capitol. And he thought about the way the Capitol would want him to behave in the games. But no…he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't be like the other tributes, trying to suck up the sponsors and pretend they like the President and the Capitol. He hated that, and he hated people who did that. All the fake people who betrayed their beliefs just so a bunch of rich people would buy them a water bottle. No…he would play his _own_ game. He would play the game the way he wanted to play it. And if that meant being a rebel, or "scum," as the Peacekeepers put it, then so be it.

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**Dun dun dun! Yes, this chapter was officially the epitome of all of the hate in the world for the Capitol and Panem. Both of the tributes, so similar, but yet...so different. And not exactly good friends, either. o.O  
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**Anyway, thank you guys for creating these awesome tributes (just gonna make it HARDER for me to kill them off, now .) and thank you readers for reading this chapter! I would love to hear from you about what you thought! Now, time for the question: out of the tributes from districts one through nine, who can YOU see being the villain/villains of the story (in terms of brutality, rudeness, etc)? I decided to ask this question because, c'mon, EVERYONE loves villains, right?**

**Thank you for reading!**


	14. District 10

**Hello, ladies and gentleman! I am back finally, with the latest update. And hoo-wee, this was a long one! Yup, got some puh-retty interesting tributes in this one, as always! So thank you to their creators! And did I mention that it's literally going to be impossible to kill any one of these tributes off?  
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**BecauseofKillianJones: W00t! Good to see you back! Yeah, school is like that. . ugh. Anyway, I enjoyed your review as always! Poor poor Lokius. Only a 3/10. But since he has very little fighting experience, that's a very understandable score. And I like what you said about Catie, acknowledging that she will do well, at least for a D8 tribute. That's certainly what I was going for! I also very much liked the little proposition you made regarding Cree and the Community Home. Very interesting...And I'm glad you liked Leo. ;) He was a great tribute to write, thanks to you! And last but not least, I THOROUGHLY enjoyed your answers to my questions. Zale Shores, huh? Thanks for your review! **

**CelestelzaFanLolz(10/13): Thank you for reviewing! I'm glad you liked Leo so much as to call him your favorite. And also Buck, too. Wow, it's awesome that there's no one tribute that is collectively the favorite one. I think the poll results are going to be pretty split when I post the first one! Anyway, thanks for your review, as always! I enjoy reading them! :D  
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**ghostleon: I loooove when people make hints and guesses at things, like how you did with Cree/Leo and Joust! That's a very good prediction, so we'll so what happens! And I think the answer you gave to the question was very understandable. Careers ARE typically the most villainous. Anyway, thanks for your review! Always appreciated!**

**HeyyMan: Yay! I'm glad you approve! And I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Yeah, Cree definitely has quite the temper, and she's certainly a fun tribute to write. Looking forward to writing more about her and your soon-to-be next tribute! Yay! Thank you for your review, as always!  
**

**T1nyDanc3r: I'm glad you see my predicament! Writing the deaths of these tributes is going to be BRUTAL! Literally, ALL of them! Anyway, I'm glad you liked Leo, too! He's a pretty cool dude. And I especially liked your answer to my question. The career pack is certainly a good assumption, but what I really liked is that you still see good in them despite the fact you think they'll be the villains. EVERYONE'S gotta be a little good...right...? Haha thanks for your review!**

**tasherekalb: Sorry to hear the news. :( Anyway, take your time. Attending to something like that is much more important than reading this fan fiction, so it's perfectly fine. But thanks for the review, still. :) I like how you basically gave me the rundown of each tribute and which you liked more. It's good for me to know exactly how the readers' opinions fall, so you did well to let me know! Thanks for your review, tasherekalb! :D**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, XxSilverEyedWolfxX, for the district ten female, and thank you, Atashi Desu, for the district ten male.**

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**District 10  
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**Brett Keith, age 14 (District 10 Female)**

"_Hurry up, honey! You must get your dress on! The reapings are today!"_

_Brett looked up at her mother through her grass-green eyes, a spoonful of cereal in her mouth. She knew what day it was; she didn't need to be reminded. Not by her mother or father or by her own horrible memories._

_And she certainly didn't need to be reminded of the dress her mother picked out for her. "Mom, I don't want to wear a dress this year. You know I hate them. The Capitol won't mind if I show up in—"_

_But her mother cut her off. "Brett, I can't have you showing up to the reapings in jeans and a hoodie. Please, dear, for your mother. You always look so good in your dresses." Her mother really did love her and always was looking out for her, but sometimes Brett felt like she loved the Capitol more. They were a wealthy family, no doubt, and so her parents always found it necessary to pay homage to the authority that gave them such wealth: the Capitol._

"_But Mo-om…" Brett bit her lip and sighed, relenting. "Fine." She finished her meal and disappeared off to her room where her mother had laid out her hand-picked dress. At the very least, it was black; Brett liked that. Perhaps, she thought, she wouldn't look as overbearing as some of the other girls did in their frilly pinks and vivacious reds._

_Brett put the dress on quickly and stood unhappily in front of her mirror, slouching a little and wanting nothing more than to change into something comfortable. She hated the way she looked; her slightly pale skin, she felt, played horribly off the black fabric, making her paleness even more obvious and making her look like a walking skeleton. And it was so tight, too. For being an already skinny girl, she felt like she was being squeezed to nothingness by the boa constrictor that was her dress._

_But it would only take an hour. Give a speech. Call out two names. Before she'd know it, she'd be back home. Brett brushed out her shoulder-length dark blonde hair quickly, ignoring the prospect of wearing make-up. That was where she drew the line; she was going to the Hunger Games reapings, not a beauty pageant. All of the girls who gussied themselves up before-hand just made themselves look stupid and narcissistic, in her eyes._

_Brett left her room and began to descend the grand staircase into their equally grand foyer. It was dark and quiet in their house, she realized. It almost chilled her to the bone._

_And then she heard thunder. It was going to rain shortly, she guessed. Thankfully, she didn't mind the rain. If anything, it'd be funny to hear the other girls complain about how wet their dresses were getting and how ruined their make-up was. But still…there was something ominous about the rain. And ominous rain on the day of the reapings…couldn't have been good._

Brett stared out the window of the train. It was still raining…still raining. It had been rainy and windy all day, and it still wasn't letting up. She found it almost ironic: rain on the day of the reapings. There wasn't a better recipe for depression.

How could she have been so blind, she wondered? How was it possible? To think that just two years ago, Brett would watch the Hunger Games with her parents, wide-eyed and intrigued, and happy. And to think that she used to support the Capitol in their endeavors, too. She used to look up to the Capitol as a parental figure, a good thing, something that was there to help them. She felt so stupid for being so wrong.

A person wasn't supposed to like the Capitol. She should have realized that; no one in their district liked it, at least. And so her family was hated by the rest of district ten, and yet Brett and her parents still supported the Capitol and the games and thanked them for their wealth. She used to think the Captiol was good. She used to think he older sister, Rowan, was crazy. Rowan was the rebel of the family; she saw past what her parents and Brett saw in the Capitol, and only saw it as a monstrous government that wanted to control ever aspect about every person's life. How silly Rowan was, Brett used to think.

And for thinking like that, Brett had no friends. She and her parents were looked on as pets of the Capitol. So who would ever want to be around them? Be around supporters of the things people hated most? The answer to that question, Brett found out, was no one. None of the other kids would want to be her friend, because they had probably been taught by their parents to avoid the "rich girl with blonde hair."

But no…that wasn't true. There was one boy. One boy who looked on Brett as a friend and saw through the façade the rest of district ten had painted on her. He liked her because of her bubbly, happy personality and friendly demeanor. He always thought she deserved more kind people in her life, because he knew she was a genuinely nice person. It didn't matter if she had different views than he did on the Capitol; he liked her as a person, and that was all that mattered.

Thinking of the boy almost made Brett cry. She missed him so much. She missed Arie. Her friend.

"_Try to catch me!" Eleven-year-old Brett yelled down to the boy on the ground. She was high in the branches of the tallest tree in her backyard. Arie looked up at her from the ground and tried his best to get a good footing on the first branches of the tree. "C'mon, Arie!"_

"_Coming!" he said back. It was no surprise that Brett was the better climber. She had always loved climbing trees, not afraid to get a scrape or two here and there. She was tough for being such a kind-hearted girl. Arie liked that._

_Brett was halfway up the tree and was trying to climb faster; Arie thought he could be sneaky and skip a few branches at a time, so he was getting close to her. "Last one to the top's a rotten egg!" She smiled down at Arie in between pulling herself up._

"_No fair!" he called back. "You got a head-start!" And so he tried to climb even faster, so fast that he nearly caught up to Brett. "Remember when I used to be afraid of climbing trees?" he asked her as he steadied himself to her pace._

"_Yeah," she said back, grinning. She picked her foot up and down, reading the branches like an expert, knowing exactly where to step several seconds before she actually did. "I had to beg you to climb your first tree. And then you cried and my dad had to come get you out." She giggled, winking at him, and he smiled sheepishly back at her. They were still climbing, much more slowly now, taking their time._

"_Hey, I was really young then!" he reminded her. "And I didn't cry. I probably just had something in my eye."_

" '_Something in your—' Uh huh. I definitely believe that," she said sarcastically. "Arie, you're so silly."_

"_It's true, though! I—" The boy shrieked as he lost his footing. He wasn't watching what he was doing, too caught up in his conversation with Brett. The weak branch on which he stepped snapped, and all of a sudden there was nothing beneath him. He held onto a skinny branch above him with one hand and wrapped his other around the trunk of the tree, but he was losing his grip._

"_Arie!" Brett yelled, surprised. He looked like he was struggling to hold on. His face was straining and his arm was shaking; he couldn't quite pull himself back up. Brett looked below her; they were so high up. She dropped down to a lower branch and gave his arm a tug, trying to pull himself up. She wedged her foot between a thick branch and the trunk of the tree, using what strength he had to help the flailing boy._

_She almost slipped. She tried pulling so hard she almost lost her own balance. But then she readied herself again, furrowed her brow, and balanced herself. She wasn't afraid of heights. And even though he had become an expert climber, she knew Arie was. She thought of him and only him as she gave a strategic tug to the boy's arm._

_And then it was over. He was safe, and so was she. Arie looked a little pale from his near-death experience, and Brett looked wide-eyed and surprised. She felt so guilty. She shouldn't have encouraged him to climb faster, she realized. She shouldn't have pretended it was a race. They shouldn't have been that high up, anyway. It was entirely her fault, and she knew it. She wanted to apologize so badly; she didn't want her only friend to hate her, to resent her for putting him through that. _

_But Arie did something she didn't expect: he hugged her. He hugged her so tightly, and for a second she wasn't sure if what she was seeing was real. Then he looked up at her, his face still pale, and thanked her for saving his life. And then he thanked her for teaching him how to climb all those years ago. "Because otherwise, I would still be that kid who was afraid to climb a tree."_

_And that was the day Brett realized that she found an even truer friend than she ever hoped. That night, before she went to bed, she vowed to protect Arie like a brother for as long as he lived. But perhaps…that wasn't going to be a very long time, after all…_

How stupid! Brett felt like such an idiot for loving the Capitol and the games. The more she thought about it, the more she liked them less. She should have known better…no one, even the Capitol's pets, are free from its power. That was something she had to find out the hard way, two years ago on that very day…

Because that was the day Arie was reaped. That was the day Brett wished more than anything there would be some other boy in the crowd who would volunteer. But there was no one. As usual, there was no one there for her. And the one person who she could always count on…was the one being reaped.

Rowan was right, Brett realized. She was right all along. It wasn't good to love the Capitol, because the Capitol did not truly love you. They killed her best friend. They killed her only friend. Mutts…dozens of them…horrible, terrible creatures. Brett had watched Arie's brutal death from the large flat screen television in their mansion. And what killed her most…was that her parent's hadn't even shed a tear for the boy who changed her life.

"_You're going to do good out there girl," Rowan reminded her from the Justice Building._

"_I'm scared," Brett admitted. "I'm really, really scared." She was crying a little bit, too._

"_It's alright, honey," her father said, trying to console her. Even his face was filled with grief. To see his own daughter be called into the Hunger Games; it hurt him, he had to admit. It hurt him. But even yet, despite what Brett felt was the Capitol's utmost betrayal of his trust, her father said, "But if you were reaped, then you're obviously supposed to be in the games. Keep your chin up, Brett. And remember: the Capitol selected _you_. Even if it was random, they wanted _you_. And you…you should feel good and ready to support the Capitol in whatever they want…"_

**Leem Welsh, age 12 (District 10 Male)**

"_And now…we will select the district ten male!" Something about the microphone sounded off that morning, and the escort's voice sounded echoey and witchlike, like nails on a chalkboard. Her voice cut through the air like a knife, and sounded even more muffled and less attractive amongst the pouring rain. It was a miserable day. "The district ten male is…Dace Welsh."_

_A clearing was instantly made for a boy in the eighteen year old section. He was of average height and average build, and had shaggy brown hair that sometimes fell in front of his brown eyes. The eyes of the other kids fell upon him, and Dace looked stunned. Then, he slowly took a step forward; there was no point in fighting it. He was reaped…_

"_I volunteer!" a voice yelled from the crowd. Between the pouring rain and the volunteer's naturally quiet personality, their voice was almost lost. But the escort heard it…and so did Dace. And it took him only a moment to realize who it was. Dace's jaw dropped open as he watched the twelve year old volunteer mount the stairs to the stage._

"_I'm Leem Welsh…and I'm this year's tribute." _

_The eyes of all the boys and girls of Panem looked on in disbelief. It was Dace's much younger brother. Leem stood on the stage quietly, looking out into the crowd with his own set of brown eyes. He really resembled Dace, with his shaggy brown hair; but there was more._

_The boy wore a tattered, dirty t-shirt with countless holes and a pair of worn-down jeans. The shoes he wore were his brother's, making him look awkward since they were much too big for his feet. Some of the more ignorant children in the district called him a slob, a disgrace. But the select few…the select few who knew his story…knew that this was all Leem could afford. It was all he was _allowed _to afford._

_On his arms, the children close to the stage could see bruises and scars. His right eye looked dark and bruised, and he could barely keep it open from how sore it was. Even his nose…it looked slightly crooked, as though it were not aligned right. He looked underfed, like he was starving; he weighed only eighty-five pounds. The boy was short, too, even for a twelve year old: he stood at a mere four feet ten inches. And his whole body…it looked so scrawny and weak. It didn't make sense that this was the boy who would volunteer._

_Leem saw a few people in the crowd that morning…he saw his brother crying, and an older girl sobbing, too. And another boy laughing at him. And another girl staring at him in shock. But more than anyone he saw a man. A man who seemed to pay no heed to the fact that Leem was volunteering. The man was drunk. The man was Leem's father._

Was it all his fault? Was it is fault that Shilah had died giving birth to him? Was it truly _his fault_? He didn't think so; at least, he didn't want to believe it. But at the same time, it just all seemed so true. Like he really was that horrible person, like he really was at the heart of her death…his mother's death…but no. His father just wanted him to believe that. It wasn't true. It couldn't be. His older brother, Dace and his older sister, Enna had told Leem their father was crazy, that he was just blaming him to make feel worthless, and that he shouldn't let his cruel words hurt him. But either way, true or not, it _did _make him feel worthless.

Because when the day was over, he knew his father was still a drunkard. A drunkard because his wife was dead.

"_You took out tesserae for _him?!_" Their father, Connel, was roaring, pointing at the two-year old Leem and looking at Enna with an insane look in his eyes. Enna has turned twelve that year, and being the only sibling eligible for the Hunger Games, took out tesserae for her three brothers and one sister. And that included Leem._

"_Yes, father. I—"_

"_For _him?!_ For that worthless pile of manure?! Your throwing your life away, Enna, for the garbage that killed Shilah. You're _mother_!" He had obviously been drinking; he was always drinking. He yelled for an hour, screaming at her, telling her that Leem was horrible. Telling her that Leem was bad. He often repeated himself, but he was so flustered and angry that it didn't even matter. He _hated _Leem. _

_And then, when he was all done, he ran to baby Leem and threw him onto his head, breaking his nose. And then took off his belt, and swung, and swung…and he yelled something incomprehensible to the two year old: "You're going to kill your sister now, too!"_

_From that day on, no one took out tesserae for Leem again._

_For _his_ sake._

Leem saw himself in the mirror in his train room. He saw his still-crooked nose that had never been properly realigned. He didn't even remember that day, thankfully, but Dace and the now twenty-two year old Enna had told him of it one day when their father wasn't around.

The boy began to examine the rest of his wounds. His black eye…his father had given that to him just a few days before. He had come home exceedingly drunk that night, more drunk than usual, and was simply looking for something to do to let off steam. Pinning Leem against the kitchen table and beating him with his fists quelled that desire.

And then Leem lifted up his shirt. On his pale, freckled skin he saw countless cuts and bruises, and scars and burn marks. Burns…they were the worst. He could take a punch, as much as he hated it and as much as it hurt him. He could even take getting whipped. But when his father would hold a burning match up to his skin…

And then Leem looked at his left shoulder and the wound that had never properly healed. It was black and repulsive-looking, and severely limited the motor skills in his left arm. He remembered getting that wound one year ago…he remembered it too well…

_Dace was seventeen that year, and couldn't take much more of his father. Dace always defended Leem and tried to help him through his father's torture, but Connel didn't want to hear it. Conell blamed Leem once again, this time for corrupting his older brother into rebelling against his father. "Don't you dare defend that boy, you hear?!" Connel would scream at Dace when he was sober enough to form actual sentences._

_But Dace couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't watch as Leem was physically and emotionally abused every day, and took it upon himself to stand up to the monster that their father was. He tried to attack Connel one night; Dace was bigger and stronger than he ever was before, and he had the will to fight._

_But Connel was ruthless that night. He staggered into the kitchen and picked up the first blade he could find. He slashed at Dace once (almost slicing his stomach right open), and then staggered into the living room where Leem was. The boy had no time to react before the man was on him, plunging the knife into his left shoulder as hard as he could. Leem screamed out in pain and agony, squirming as the blade was pushed deeper and deeper into his flesh. Connel was yelling obscenities at Leem as he cried in pain, and he forced all the weight he had onto pushing the blade even farther into his shoulder._

_From the kitchen, Dace was screaming, "Stop it! Stop it! I'm sorry, dad! I'm sorry! I'll never do anything like that again! Please—"_

"_Good! You better not, boy!" And then Connel pulled the knife out, twisting it a little as he did. _

Leem winced as he touched the spot on his shoulder; it still hurt him, even a year later. Sometimes his left hand went tingly, and he couldn't even feel his ring and pinkie fingers at all. His entire left arm had grown weak, and he couldn't even bring it around in a full circle. His injury—much to Connel's pleasure—had not properly healed. Dace was there for him that night and tried to bandage him up, but that was all he could do for the boy.

But Leem was still appreciative. He really loved his brother, who was _always_ there to tend to his wounds once their father had passed out on the couch. And then Dace would always give Leem a big hug, and let him know that he was the best little brother anyone could have ever asked for. After getting so physically tortured, Leem became sensitive to and almost afraid of the hugs, fearing whenever anyone touched him that he would get hurt, but he still comprehended that Dace was only doing it out of love. Yes…only out of love…

And then there was his older sister, Enna. She was a wiry young woman, also with light brown hair and brown eyes. To Leem, Enna was truly an angel sent to guide him. She always reminded him that it was not his fault their mother had died, and told him how much their mother loved him, even before he was born. Knowing this helped him…it helped him understand, and realize that maybe her death truly wasn't his fault.

And Leem could never forget the time Enna took out tesserae for him when she turned twelve…even if it resulted in his broken nose, a concussion, and possible brain damage…he knew that she _truly_ did love him.

"_You don't have to treat me so nice," Leem told Enna one day. "Please…treat me how I deserve."_

_Enna gave him the kind-hearted, loving smile she always did and bent over, touching his hair gently so as not to make him flinch. "I do," she answered. "I always do."_

Leem really loved Dace and Enna, and they really loved him. They'd do anything for him, but concealed their kindness from their father, or else Leem would only get punished again. Beaten again, whipped again, burned again, whatever. And they hated that. And over the course of the years, they learned to conceal their love for Leem from their other brother, Flinn, as well. Flinn was the sixteen year old, curly-haired redhead who would _wait _to see Leem get treated kindly. And when he did, he'd go running off to Connel, telling him that Dace or Enna "had the nerve" to be nice to Leem. And then Leem's torture would start all over again.

There would be other things, too. Flinn was too lazy to do his own chores and homework, so he would boss Leem around as him father did. Leem was forced to work laboriously on Flinn's chores out in the field (chores that were much too difficult for a twelve-year old), and was forced to complete Flinn's homework every night, until his fingers cramped and his head hurt. And if Leem dared defy him: "I'll tell father you were asking for food scraps from Dace!" And Leem didn't want Connel to think that. So over the years, Leem grew to hate his power-hungry, abusive brother Flinn.

And Kianna wasn't much better. She was Leem's other older sister, thirteen years of age, with a petite frame and auburn-colored hair, and freckles sprinkled about her face. Being only a year older than Leem, and only an infant when her mother had died, she was taught just one thing by her father: it was Leem who killed her mother, and it was Leem who would have to pay for this crime. She was babied so much by her father, growing up to look and act like a gentle lamb. But she had a temper, too, and she still believed that Leem was behind her mother's death, so she partook in dealing out his torture. She was sure to give Leem a few punches or slaps whenever she thought he was doing something wrong, and she often called him horrible names as her father did. But thankfully, she wasn't very strong. Her torture was nothing compared to Connel's, and Leem would've accepted a few girly punches from Kianna any day over a belt-whipping from his father.

It was such a horrible life. It was hard for him to just keep himself alive. And yet no one knew…no one else knew of his pain and suffering. People on the streets just saw the tattered-looking boy as worthless, showing him no remorse. Leem resorted to crime, stealing food from shops at night or stealing eggs from farmers early in the morning. He pick-pocketed the wealthiest members of district ten and sold his findings on the black market. He did all this just to survive. Thankfully, he was blessed with being light, quiet, and stealthy, so he was rarely caught.

But at the end of the day, there was nowhere to go. He didn't even have any friends he could lean on. No one he could talk to whenever he wanted to help him simply get through the day alive. There was Lara and Preseton, two kids Leem talked to at school who he called his "friends," but they could do nothing to help him. When they saw Leem's bruises and pieced two and two together, they offered to tell someone of Leem's torture. But the boy merely refused. "My dad will kill me." He sounded so desperate, a pleasing look in his eyes. "He won't care about what happens to him. He will go crazy and he will kill me. Please don't tell anyone." And so they didn't.

But no…there _was_ one person. A person Leem could confide in. A Peacekeeper, surprisingly. A man named Vitus. It was the man Leem had met just one year before, when his father made him take out tesserae at only eleven years old, pretending he was a year older than he actually was. Vitus knew Leem wasn't twelve, but he didn't yell or punish the boy: he simply felt bad for him. He saw Leem's beaten and battered body and could do nothing but feel compassion. And so from that day on, the Peacekeeper always gave Leem a little extra whenever he took out tesserae. And when he knew Leem was thieving in the farmer's barns early in the morning or in the rich people's back pockets, Vitus kept his mouth shut.

Leem began to catch on to the Peacekeeper's friendliness, seeing the extra tesserae and knowing that Vitus was looking out for him. "You should talk to the Head Peacekeeper," Vitus told him finally, knowing full well of Leem's abuse. But once again, the boy refused, and begged Vitus to remain quiet about the matter, as well. The Peacekeeper complied, but did so with pain in his heart. Little Leem didn't deserve to live an unnoticed life, Vitus felt. And unnoticed life full of torture and pain. And so, Vitus became Leem's only true friend. He was willing and waiting to help him, to give him food or anything the boy needed. He became the only person Leem could ever talk to safely and openly. A person who would listen, and give him advice. Leem loved Vitus…he loved him as a father.

The boy moved from the mirror. He had gotten so lost in his day dreams and memories that so much time had passed. And he realized he was hungry. Leem opened the heavy door to his room with his right hand (his left was probably too weak, he figured), and made his way to the dining car. Once there, he grabbed a plate, and began filling it with food. There was so much…more food than he ever could have imagined seeing in his entire life. So much more than the scraps of tesserae Dace would bring to him when his father wasn't looking. It was truly a miracle. But he didn't just grab it all; he was very specific, and took everything in small portions.

"Hi!" an exciting voice called. Leem jumped awkwardly at the sound, instantly reaching his hands to his ears as though trying to block out a loud noise. His eyes were wide with fright and his body was stiff with the feeling of nervousness, and for a moment he just stood in place; then he turned slowly to the girl who spoke, lowering his hands cautiously from his ears as he did, and saw that the voice belonged to Brett.

"Hi," Leem said quietly, avoiding her gaze.

Brett felt bad for Leem. She really did. She saw him volunteer for his brother, and her heart immediately sank. It reminded her of how much she wished that someone brave would've volunteered for Arie those two years ago. So she appreciated Leem; she respected him. And she saw how underfed, socially inept, and bruised he was. If she was going to do anything before she died in the arena, she at least wanted to make Leem feel happy. To feel loved, and like he had a friend. "Wanna talk?" she asked.

Leem shrugged. His eyes still averted hers as he held his plate in his hand. He _didn't_ really want to talk; he didn't want to get to know her. He feared she would ask him for an alliance, and that was not something he wanted. He wanted to be alone. "No," he said, and he began to turn around slowly.

Brett tried smiling at him, and then advanced toward him quickly in hopes that she could possibly stop him. But when she did, he flinched a little bit in fear; she was approaching _so_ _quickly_. Like when his father was mad and was going to beat him. Or when his brother Flinn would walk up to him in a snarky and domineering way. Leem backed up a little bit, feeling threatened.

"I'm sorry," Brett said, genuine. She looked at him through pained and compassionate eyes, just trying to let him know that she meant no harm. That she wasn't there to make his life miserable, or to hurt him. But Leem began to leave again; he quickly slipped out of the dining car with his plate full of food in his hands. Brett frowned; she wanted to help him. She wanted to make him feel loved…

"_Why did you volunteer? Why? It can't…no…" Dace was crying, trying to wrap his head around his little brother's volunteering that morning. Enna was next to him, crying as well; the two both knew he would surely die in the arena. He was so small, so frail, so weak. He was going to get slaughtered. They just didn't understand. "Why?" Dace asked again, tears rolling down his face. He loved Leem so much…_

_But Leem couldn't explain it. And he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want Dace and Enna to feel bad. He never wanted them to feel bad, or to see them crying. He adored them…he couldn't watch them be sad…so before he left their lives—possibly forever—he asked, "Can I please…have a lock of your hair?" He looked at them both. He pulled out a little wooden board from his jeans pocket and held it up. "So I can tie it onto here…to make a necklace?" _

_That was Leem's token. That was all he wanted. And Dace and Enna gave it to him. And they cried the entire time. And then they were gone. And his father didn't come to see him, thankfully. And neither did Flinn or Kianna. But that was okay with him. It was okay…_

_His school friends, Lara and Preston, came to say good-bye as well, and to wish him luck. But they didn't understand, either. They didn't understand why Leem would do such a thing. To go into the Hunger Games over the place of his brother like that. Leem was just thankful for their visit. _

_But the moment he loved most was when Vitus came, right at the end, to say good-bye. Unlike the others, the Peacekeeper had no questions: he knew why Leem volunteered. And it made sense to him. And even though he didn't want to see the boy get killed, Vitus knew that death was one salvation from his cruel, cruel life. With tears in his eyes, Vitus told the boy everything he knew about the games. He gave him all of the advice he could possibly think of, and gave him tips from when he used to practice at the training academy. "You'll be okay in there, Leem. Just believe in yourself. If you think you can do it, you' can do it. And just remember…I'm proud of you."_

_The words hung in the air of the Justice Building for a few seconds, and for a moment everything became quiet. "If I come back…" Leem then began, slowly. "Can I call you dad from now on?"_

_Vitus, wiping the tears from his eyes, leaned in and whispered, "You don't have to wait that long."_

_And then the door opened. A gruff-looking Peacekeeper said in a harsh-sounding voice, "C'mon. It's time to go. I'm here to take you to the train." He looked at Leem. The boy stood up. This was it. This was truly it. The moment he'd be going into the games, to leave his life in district ten behind. For better or for worse, there was no turning back…_

_But before Leem followed the Peacekeeper out the door, before his life would be changed forever…he turned to Vitus, and said, "I'll make you proud…Father."_

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**:'( Such a sad chapter. Wow, this was like...wow. You guys have officially done it. Right when I thought that maybe there wouldn't be such an AWESOME TRIBUTE, you guys did it again. Brett and Leem are absolutely phenomenal tributes with phenomenal storylines.  
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**Anyway, I'd looooooove to hear from you guys! 3 I'd love to know what you guys think of the new tributes. And for the question of the chapter, I will ask this: this is a question I've asked a few chapters ago, but now that there are so many more tributes, I'd love to hear who YOU would want to ally with if you could ally with any tribute for the games.**

**Thanks for reading! Can't wait to get started on the next chapter!  
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	15. District 11

**Yaaaay, I'm soo happy I can post another chapter tonight! I had a blast writing this one actually; I think the fact that the games are getting close is making me soooo excited! After this district, only three more left! Just a few more days...SO CLOSE! xD  
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**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy, as usual. :p**

**IceHeart101: I hope I updated fast enough! :D It's time for your tribute, yay! I can't wait to keep working with her! Thanks for reviewing, because now I know you're still here!  
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**ghostleon: Thank you for your review, Mr. Ghostleon. I'm glad you liked Leem, and yeah, a quick painless death would certainly be the way to go. Especially for someone who's suffered so much in his life already. We'll see how that pans out. ;) Thanks for your review, and sorry about your arm. :(**

**T1nyDanc3r: Yay! So happy you liked the tributes! I can understand that it's going to be so insanely difficult to kill these kids off. I mean...they all have such GREAT stories! Hopefully the tributes you like won't die too quickly (although it sounds like you kind of like everybody hehe :) ) And your answer to my question was toooootally understandable. I'm so glad that there are so many tributes you'd be willing to die next to (as morbid as THAT sounds). Thanks for your review! **

**CelestelzaFanLolz: Hahaha someone's hyper! :D I'm glad you like the characters, I'm glad you think it's awesome, I'm glad you think it's sad. Wow, I'm glad about everything you said in your review! Thanks for reviewing! **

**x FallingAshes x : "HOW ARE YOU GOING TO KILL LEEM?! HOW?!" Hahaha I was waiting for something like this. I'm so glad you enjoyed his character and want him to live, but as you said, it WILL be hard for him to survive long in the games. We'll see how that turns out! And I'm also glad you liked the D9 tributes, and also Brett (glad you approve of her character, since you were-hehe-there for her "creation"). And as usual, thanks for answering my chapter question; it really helps me understand you guys and predict you will/won't like. Thanks!  
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**HeyyMan: OH THANK YOU! I'm so glad! ^^ Emotion is good, especially in a Hunger Games fan fic, so thank you for telling me that! And thank you for your review!**

**BecauseofKillianJones: Poor Leem, with his 2/10. But yeah, after so much abuse, it's understandably difficult to see him as a fierce competitor. And Brett, indeed, she certainly also has an interesting backstory, as well, which I'm happy you enjoyed. Also, I loved the list you gave for who you wanted to ally with, because there are SO MANY tributes on it haha! All of these creators creating such likable tributes! Anyway, thank you so much for your review!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, IceHeart101, for the district eleven female, and thank you, Slappinthebassmon, for the district eleven male.  
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**District 11  
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**Arriane Lane, age 16 (District 11 Female)**

It all just seemed so…improbable. To think of all the other girls in her district who could've been reaped. To think of all the eighteen year olds who had their names in the reaping bowl more times than she did. Maybe it wasn't improbable…but it was certainly unlucky.

The games were scary. That was no lie. Twenty-eight children would be going in, and only one would come out. It didn't seem like such a large number—twenty-eight—but it was. To beat out twenty-seven other tributes sounded even more improbable than getting reaped for the games at all. And then there would be twenty-seven families that were destroyed. Parents and brothers and sisters whose lives will be ruined when their loved one dies in the arena. And their friends and their teachers and even the kids they spoke to just a few times at school. Twenty-eight really was a large number, after all…

But Arriane didn't want to condemn herself quite so early. She wasn't a career, no, nor did she find killing fun or even remotely appealing. But that didn't mean it was impossible to win. She wasn't completely hopeless, she knew; she had fighting skills, and if her adrenaline would be strong enough, she knew she'd be a force to be reckoned with.

The girl stood up from her bed. She had long, fiery red hair, and conversely sea blue eyes. She was very tall for a girl her age, too. That was a plus; it always helped to be taller than your opponents, right? For the most part, she figured, it was. At the very least, she guessed it would be a significant strength advantage.

Besides, Arriane knew she was more cut out for the games than she liked to give herself credit for. Back in district eleven, she was quite the troublemaker; she wasn't afraid to go exploring places where she shouldn't have been, and she liked to annoy the shop owners by always hiding out on their rooftops and leaping from shop to shop. It wasn't even that she liked to climb, but rather…she just loved the feeling of danger. The feeling of knowing that you're doing something unsafe, that you're out of your comfort zone and risking something. She wondered how many people were like that…

She didn't hope there were many…

**Foster James, age 13 (District 11 Male)**

There was a sound. It was Arriane, he presumed; who else was on the train, anyway? They were abandoned, really. There were no mentors or escorts as there always were, and for this reason, Foster James was confused. At the very least, he knew he could've benefited from a few tips and tricks, or something. But there was no one. It was like the Capitol just wanted all the tributes to get lost in a void of loneliness. Even in their time of death…the Capitol just wanted them to be alone…alone forever…

Foster felt even more lonely knowing there was no escort or mentor than he did before. All he wanted to do was go home. Go back to his parents, where he could live happily again in district eleven. Even if his life wasn't perfect back there…it certainly was better than this: a dark, lonely train-ride with not even his own shadow to keep him company.

And then there was a girl with him. Arriane walked into the room quickly and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She went straight for the buffet of food, but said nothing. Foster looked at her with a hint of nervousness in his eyes; she seemed…a little scary. She was older than he was, and he knew she was probably tougher than him, too. He wanted to say something to her, but his words got caught in his throat, and he remained silent.

When Arriane had finished piling food onto her plate, she looked back across the room at him. Still, though, she looked out of the corner of her eye as though not quite wanting to let him know where her attention was focused. Foster still remained quiet, but was looking at her more directly, hoping that she wasn't acting so silent toward him because of something he did.

The girl was tall, he noticed. She looked slightly fit, too. Not like the career girls, but she certainly wasn't the kind of tribute you'd think would die in the bloodbath. Unlike him, he thought. Foster just frowned.

Now it was Arriane's turn; she took a seat at the table Foster was sitting at, giving him a quick, "hello," and then inconspicuously looked him up and down. He was a very lanky boy, standing at five feet four inches and having little to no physical strength. He had short brown hair and matching brown eyes, which looked, she felt, welcoming and harmless. He didn't look like a dangerous kid, nor did he look like someone who tried to be dangerous. Rather, he seemed caring and friendly, Arriane admitted…but caring and friendly boys didn't win the Hunger Games. It would've been better for her, she knew, had she gotten paired off with at least a somewhat physically apt tribute, even if he weren't the nicest boy in the world.

"Hi," he said back to her, trying to sound as carefree as he possibly could in light of the situation. In actually, his heart was pumping fast with anxiety; anxiety for the games and anxiety for meeting the unhappy-looking female tribute. "Umm…how are you?"

"I'm alright," she said, picking at her food; she kind of flinched a little bit as she did. She didn't really enjoy his small talk, and probably would've benefited more by leaving the room right then, but she remained still. At the very least, she was willing to give him a chance. "Would be better if I wasn't in the Hunger Games, in case you couldn't have guessed."

"Yeah…" he said slowly, not sure if she was trying to be light-hearted, or just frustratedly sarcastic. He assumed the latter. "I'm scared," he told her honestly. "I don't really know what to do…" He trailed off, looking at her; she was eating her food slowly, and she looked as though she were in deep thought.

"Well…" she began, "what are you good at?"

"Umm…well, I guess…climbing…and swimming. And, like, identifying plants…" Foster bit his lip and looked at her through helpless, desperate eyes.

Arriane screwed her face up a little bit. "You can't kill too many people with that."

Foster laughed quietly, but she didn't laugh with him. It wasn't a joke, he guessed.

Then Arriane said, "I can fight a little bit. I'm pretty good with a bow. I can use most weapons…but, I'm not great with them or anything." She felt she was being honest with him: she wasn't a great fighter, but a decent one. A respectable one.

"That's good," Foster replied. He wasn't really sure what to say next. He felt their entire conversation was just so…awkward. And he felt like she didn't really want to talk to him; or maybe it was just an angle she was playing? He couldn't be sure. But it just made him—as hard as he found it to believe—even _more _alone. The one person he thought he could talk to…didn't want to talk, after all…

Arriane poked at her food. She wanted to get to know Foster. At least, she thought she did. But was it just a waste of time? He wasn't going to make it far, she predicted, and even if he did, she knew she'd need a more dependable ally. But was it right to just ignore him? She wanted to say it was; she didn't want to become involved in the last few days of his life if she didn't have to. But at the same time, she felt it wasn't the right thing to do. Maybe talking to him would make her feel better? She didn't like to open up so willingly to other people, but she that maybe, just maybe…she should place a little more trust in the potentially good people around her…?

Arriane was frustrated. It just all seemed so hopeless. No, she decided. She didn't need Foster. She had a good friend back in district eleven; someone she knew she could trust, someone she knew she could tell anything to. She didn't need someone else to get in the mix. She would talk to him for a little while, she decided, and then go back whence she came…alone…

"_Don't you want to go inside?" The rain poured down on the girls' heads, but neither of them moved. The baker who lived in the building beneath where they sat must've been out, because normally he'd have threatened Arriane and Megs to get off his roof. But that morning...nothing was as it usually was. Because that was the day of the reapings…_

"_Meh, I like the rain," Arriane said, shrugging. Megs knew that. She was Arriane's best friend, after all, and she knew everything about her. She knew that Arriane wasn't bothered by the kinds of things most people were, for one. "But you…" Arriane continued. "You look cold. You should go get warm. Before the reapings."_

_Megs was shivering a little bit; she _was_ cold. It was such a shame there had to be such a vicious storm the day of the reapings. And to think the downpour couldn't have even held itself off for just a few more hours…"I'll be okay," she said, smiling at Arriane. "In case I get reaped today, I can't just sissy out. I'm gonna stay here with you."_

_Arriane liked to hear that. She thanked Megs, and then said, "You're not gonna get reaped. The odds of that…there's no way."_

"_You think?"_

"_Megs, if you get reaped, then…then my name isn't Arriane. If you get reaped, then I hate climbing on rooftops and annoying all the shop owners. See? It's not true. It won't happen." And then Arriane furrowed her eyebrows, and over the sound of the pouring rain, Mags couldn't hear her whisper, "It _can't_ happen…"_

_Megs was quiet for a second. She let the pouring rain completely engulf her; her hair was wet and her clothes were completely soaked, but she didn't care. She wanted to spend what she felt could've been her last day in district eleven with her friend. "Funny…" Megs said. "Rain during the reapings. This day just…couldn't be worse. Is that bad luck, do you think?"_

"_Bad luck for someone else," Arriane assured her. She hoped so, at least. If one of them went into those games, if one of them was destined to die…the thought just scared Arriane. She didn't want to lose her friend, and she didn't want her friend to lose her._

_Before going back home that morning to get changed for the reapings, Arriane gave Megs a hug. The girls always hugged before the reapings, but that day…something was different. Megs could tell. Something about the way Arriane hugged her that morning…for a second, she really was convinced that fate wasn't on her side…_

Arriane looked out the curtained window of the train, longing for the world beyond the glass; she longed to run free of the Capitol's tyrannical grasp, to get off at the next stop and be able to forget about the Hunger Games forever. She wanted to go back home…to her family, to her friends…and to Megs.

Then she looked across the table at Foster and just sighed; she would never, never be able to live another day with her friend by her side. She wouldn't feel the rush of trespassing in the woods, or sneaking around town late at night with Megs. She wouldn't get to laugh and tell stories to her best friend anymore. She wouldn't be able to trust her secrets, her life, and anything she deemed sacred in the hands of another person. Because that person…was back at home, waiting in silence as her best friend went into the Hunger Games.

Never again, Arriane thought. She would be happy…never again. And that was a sad thought to think.

"It's so…horrible outside," Foster said quietly. He, too, was looking out the window at the whirling tempest. "It made for such a bad day…" And then he paused, contemplative.

"The rain?" Arriane asked him, "You think it was the _rain _that made this such a bad day?"

The boy shook his head defensively. "No…I mean. The reapings, of course. But I—"

"It can rain all it wants if it can get me out of the Hunger Games. It can rain til the day I die for all I care, as long as I don't have to do these games," Arriane said bluntly. "I'm not ready to die yet. Maybe I don't want my life to be over. Do you think the Capitol ever thought of that?"

Foster stumbled with his words; he couldn't tell if the girl was mad at him, or just the world in general. "Umm…I—" He shook his head and looked at her with his soft, innocent eyes. "Stay positive," he reminded her. "Please…I know it's hard." Arriane could see a tear forming in one of his eyes, a glistening film that made his eye look shiny. "Because…even though I think I'm going to die…I try to believe. I try to believe that…that…"

"That you can win?"

"…Yeah." The tear in his eye still hadn't quite fallen. "So…you need to think that, too…"

"Right…" Arriane began. "Because…I'm just the greatest tribute ever. Untouchable. All those years of training I've been in. Yeah, I can definitely win the Hunger Games," she said sarcastically, half rudely and half playfully. Sarcasm was her defense mechanism; it made her feel safe. But sometimes, she used it as an attack. As an attack on a person's feelings. In this case…it was a little bit of both.

Foster looked defeated. She was not only deflating her own morale, but also his. The more he thought about her words, the more he realized that they were probably true. And in his case, more true than ever…

"_How was school today?" _

"_It was pretty good," Foster said truthfully, his voice happy. He looked at his mother, Angela, and smiled. She smiled warmly back at him and continued to weave her basket. Foster, as usual, was helping, weaving a basket of his own. He always did that after school, or in the very least, tried to. "Did you go out today?"_

_Angela continued to weave as she answered. "No, but I called Leon today. Talked to him for a while. He asked me how you were doing." She winked at him. Leon Pavayas was the mayor of district eleven, and also a cousin of Angela. For that reason, her and her family's lives were good; they were fairly wealthy, and they were paid good attention to by the Peacekeepers. If ever they needed money, or a little help from an authoritative power, Leon Pavayas was always there for them._

"_What did you say?" _

"_I said you were good, of course." Angela was just so light-hearted, and Foster loved that about her. He knew he couldn't have asked for a better mother. She was everything a mother should be, he thought, and more._

"_Could you help me here…?" Foster drew his mother's attention to the basket he was weaving, and she fixed his minor problem quickly. "Thanks," he answered. "A little tired, today, I guess."_

"_We all are, I think," Angela admitted. "Your father had a headache this morning. I don't think he could sleep last night. And Jami, well, she said she'll be coming home for a few days. She needs some time off. Said she should be coming in next month sometime."_

_Foster's face lit up. Jami was his older sister, who he rarely saw ever since she started working at the orchard. Sometimes she didn't come home for long stretches at a time. Foster hated those times. He felt like he didn't know his sister very well at all. And he didn't like that. He wanted to know her, but she was always working. Work, he thought. It was terrible that work had to get in the way of family._

"_I made some apple juice today," Angela continued. "Your favorite. From freshly picked apples."_

_Foster looked surprised, and then smiled whole-heartedly. "Thanks, mom…" _

_Angela was happy he was happy. She would do anything for him. Then she sighed, her face turning a little grave. "Your father…he wants to try to get you a job again. He wants to take you down to the fields tonight."_

_Foster shuddered. "Oh…" he said, his voice anxious. "But…why can't I just stay here? Stay here with you?"_

"_Your father says you need to start working." Angela waited for Foster to respond, but when he didn't, she spoke again, herself. "Even though a lot of boys your age haven't started working yet," she defended him. "Not in the fields, at least."_

_Foster nodded. "Right. Can't I…can't I just stay here with you? Weaving…that's work. And I like it." Foster was used to his father's antics. His dad, Marcus, always pressured him to get a job, even if he wasn't ready for it. The more Marcus watched Foster spend time with his mother, and the more he saw his wife tenderly love his son, the more he felt Foster wasn't going to grow up. He felt he was too much like his mother…too caught up in weaving baskets, or helping her around the house. But Marcus wanted him to do something different. Something masculine, something practical. And so for that reason, Marcus was always tough toward his son, not showing him the same kind of love his mother did, but a sterner kind._

"_I'll talk to your father," Angela said reassuringly. "I need to remind him that not everyone wants to do the kind of work _he _does. Look at my cousin Leon," the woman continued. "He doesn't do that kind of work, and look how successful he is." Angela never liked the way Marcus pressured Foster into doing things he was apprehensive about doing. _"Let the child decide on his own," _Angela had always told her husband._

"_Thanks mom," Foster said. "I love you…"_

_Angela never wanted anything more than to hear those words. "I love you too, darling." _

Foster was lost in thought, and was shaken out of his trance by the sound of Arriane pushing in her chair. She looked tired and desperate, and now…it looked like she just wanted to leave. She walked to the back of the dining room and threw her plate away, and then she turned back to the boy and said, "Well, I guess we have some long days ahead of us." She let out a long, melancholic sigh. "Let's try not to die _too_ quickly in the arena." And then gave him a nod, and departed.

Foster was alone again; the loneliness haunted him. He just wanted to go home…home to his mother, where he knew he would be happy. Even home to his father. He knew Marcus loved him, even if he never tried to show it. And his sister, too…he never did get to know her the way he always wanted to…to spend time with her and laugh with her as siblings should. She was just…Jami. The girl he really never got to know…

"_I shouldn't have been so hard on him." Marcus watched as the train pulled out of the station. "I should have just…" He couldn't contain his emotions any longer, and the stern facade he always hid behind shattered in an instant. "Oh, Foster…"_

"_Don't worry…" Angela said, holding her husband's arm. "He loves you. He really does…"_

"_Are you sure?" Marcus was shaking his head. "He always loved you more. You and him…I wish I had that kind of relationship with him. And now…now it's too late." He stared at the back of the train as it disappeared in the vast distance. His son was somewhere on that train right then. But…he wouldn't be coming back._

"_He'll be okay," Angela promised him. "Trust me. Our son…our son can handle it. He will live…because…the people who deserve to live…_will_."_

_But Marcus wasn't so sure. He wasn't so sure at all. And Angela could tell._

"_Do you remember…" she began, her voice getting soft and gentle and soothing, "when we learned that I was pregnant again?"_

_Yes, Marcus remembered. "We were so surprised. We didn't know…we were having another child."_

"_Indeed." Angela nodded. "He surprised us, Marcus. He surprised us. And I believe…he will surprise us again. In these games. _Our son will live._"_

_Her words played through Marcus's mind like a tape recorder, over and over and over again. He remembered those words well, and whenever the depression came back…whenever he began to lose hope all over again…he thought of what she said. "Foster will live," he told himself. Maybe, Marcus realized, he just needed to believe in his son, for a change…_

Foster went to bed early that night. He didn't think it was going to be easy to sleep, but he wanted to try. He needed to wake up with the energy to carry on, to tell himself that he still had a chance to win the games. And as he lay in bed, he thought long and hard about his life back in his district. Weaving baskets with mother and spending carefree days in their yard, drinking apple juice and enjoying the simple things in life. Those were the moments he would remember forever, the moments that would always be a part of him. But nothing can ever last, he realized…nothing. Not even baskets…

Foster rolled over onto his side, and a tear fell from his eye that night…

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**Hoowee...these tributes sure lead interesting lives. And such diverse ones, too. I love it!**

**Anyway, I'd love love love to hear from you guys, and...the chapter question! Who are the THREE likeliest candidates thus far for being bloodbath tributes? Such a morbid question :o  
**

**Thank you soooo much for reading! :D**


	16. District 12

**I feel like I haven't updated in forever! I guess it really hasn't been that long, but I'm remembering the times I used to update like once every three days. O.O The answer: school. Yeah, I've been pretty busy with all that boring jazz and whatnot, but thankfully it's this fan fiction that's keeping me sane (relatively), so there's about a -10% chance I'll give this thing up. Anyway, I'm rambling now, please enjoy the next chapter. Oh, and these new tributes? Epic. **

**x FallingAshes x : Ooooh I think I know your name now! Woot! Lol anyway, I'm super happy you "got the feels" when you read Foster's section (xD I just love that phrase). Too bad he's been marked as a bloodbath. :o But yeah, that's understandable. And you're right! At first I thought it would be impossible 14 relatively similar chapters, but-wow!-all these different personalities! And now, after all this blood and sweat (well, not blood, but...) I'm finally getting near the end of this! And then, and then...I can't tell you. But I'm looking forward to it, to say the least! :DDD Thanks for your review!**

**T1nyDanc3r: First and foremost, thank you very much for your review! And secondly, I liked what you said about the "Rue/Foster" thing. And I must say, GOOD POINT! It's easy to think that the weaker tributes will die in the bloodbath, but Rue is a perfect example of survival (minus her dying in the woods and all, y'know)! But yeah, it seems like the Lokius/Leem/Foster group has pretty much been marked the bloodbath group. Understandable, but not necessarily guaranteed! Mwahahahhaha! Thanks for your review!**

**CelestelzaFanLolz: Oh goodie I'm glad you like Foster! And I think it's a good thing that you can't pinpoint bloodbath tributes. I guess it's better to like all the characters so much that you don't want any of them to die! ^^ Thanks for your continued reviewing, as usual! **

**ghostleon: Oh, I'm glad you mentioned their clashing personalities! They definitely had their differences. Very, very interesting. And thanks for reviewing at all, what with the you-know-what xD. And wow! Lokius and Foster. Hoowee, they've certainly been fated to a quick end by EVERYONE! Thanks for your review!**

**Slappinthebassmon: I'm glad you liked it! And mentioning the differences between the characters, I liked that. And, it's rather amazing that everyone thinks Lokius and Foster are due to die in the bloodbath! :p Let's hope they can hold on longer! Anyway, thanks for your review and continued support!**

**By the way, I apologize if I was a little insane in writing my review to your review. I'm getting emoticon-happy, or something. o.O**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, talltales13, for the district twelve female, and thank you, jaffacakesyumm, for the district twelve male.**

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**District 12**

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**Genesis Tavare, age 17 (District 12)**

"_No…you can't go! You can't, you can't, you can't…"_

_Tears fell down onto Genesis's lap as her weeping little brother cried, his head leaning on her shoulder and his hands steadying himself to keep himself from shaking._

"_Avian…" Genesis didn't have the words to console him. She didn't want to cry, she didn't want to look weak, but seeing her little brother this way tore up her heart. He loved her, he loved her so much. And she knew it. She was seeing it. And so she felt the hot tears beginning to creep out from under her eyelids. She willed herself once more not to cry, but her efforts were futile._

_A few seconds passed as the room remained in silence. Just Genesis and Avian, crying with each other and trying to make the short-lived time last. But Genesis would have to leave soon…and she would probably never come back._

_The seven-year-old boy removed his head from her shoulder, his eyes extremely red and his nose stuffy from all his crying. He looked back at his father, who had been standing silently in the doorway since they had arrived at the Justice Building. He wanted to give Avian and Genesis all the time he felt they deserved._

_But he knew the look his son gave him was the cue that it was his turn. Ryan walked to his daughter, and at first simply hugged her, as hard as he could, saying good-bye. Genesis clung to his shoulders like a little girl who didn't want to leave her father. And in this case, she felt that that was more than true._

_Hugging him one last time made her feel alive. Or at the very least, happy. She loved to know that there was someone out there who really cared for her. Someone who loved her so much that they'd cry for her, hug her, do anything for her. It was her father, of course…but not all parents are so kind…_

The Capitol food was delicious. It really was, and plentiful, too. It felt so weird being able to eat what she wanted, no matter how much. She had a plate piled high with foods of all kinds, meats and pastas and delicious deserts, and cookies she'd never heard of and things that looked too good to be true. She almost felt bad, though…her father and her brother were back home, living off what little food they could afford, rationing it out to make sure no one went to bed starving. But she…but she had an entire banquet…

To keep her mind off her conscious, Genesis was watching the reapings that were being replayed at the far end of the room. District eight…they looked respectable. The girl at least, she thought. But Genesis knew she could take her. The girl looked relatively fit, but Genesis found confidence in the strengths she knew she possessed: daggers, fist-fighting, and survival.

The boy, though. Genesis sighed. He would die early, she guessed. This "Lokius Puliston" looked like no fighter, nor did he look like he was cut out for anything other than exceedingly simple labor. Genesis decided she would leave him alone; she didn't want him as an ally, but she didn't want to be the one to kill him. She tried not to, but she just felt bad for him.

Then there was district nine. Two small, weak-looking tributes. Bloodbath, Genesis guessed, and winced. Imagine how their parents must be feeling right now, knowing that their son or daughter is going into the Hunger Games with absolutely no chance at survival.

And then ten. An none-too-special girl and a stick-thin, bruised boy. And a volunteer, at that. Genesis didn't know the motives behind his volunteering, but she respected him for it, nonetheless. She couldn't imagine condemning herself to death as that boy had. And in place of his brother? That took courage, at the very least…

And district eleven. Another average-looking girl and a weak-looking boy. The boy reminded her of her little brother, for some reason, and that just made her sad. Made her take her eyes away from the screen and look out the window, at anything, to make herself forget. Forget about getting reaped, forget about getting torn away from the ones she loved.

Ugh! How annoying! Now that "Foster" kid would make her think of little Avian. How could she kill the kid who reminded her of her little brother? No…it didn't matter. Foster wasn't her little brother. He didn't even live in her district. She couldn't care less about him.

At least, she hoped she couldn't…

And then there was twelve. It was her district, and although she didn't really want to watch, it was hard not to. After her name was called, the cameras zoomed in on her instantly. Genesis was happy she displayed no emotion; most people would cry or weep, or at least look shocked. But somehow—maybe even subconsciously—she had shut those feelings out. The girl the cameras panned to looked confident. She had straight, brown, shoulder-length hair that sometimes got in front of her honey brown, almond-shaped eyes. She looked a little pale, and was of average height for a seventeen-year-old girl, standing at five foot eight. She was a curvy girl, too, but managed to hide it well.

And then she walked onto the stage and stated her name; her voice wasn't even shaking, or anything. Good, Genesis thought. She would look good to the sponsors. They would see her as a serious contender, someone who wasn't afraid. Someone who wasn't going to go down without a fight. For a second Genesis forgot everything, forgot all of her worries and her life back home. For a second she realized that she'd stand a serious chance at winning these games.

But then the cameras panned elsewhere, to her brother and father, trying to capture the heartfelt emotions of the tribute's faimly. Genesis's heart sank; they looked so depressed. So sad to see her get reaped. She could see Avian's little beady eyes searching the town square frantically for anyone kind enough to volunteer. But no one did…

How she longed to go home to see her family again. It was a tough life they lived, but one she realized that day she didn't want to give up. It didn't matter that they were a poor family, that she would hunt almost every day just so they could put food on the table. That she had to resort to crime, selling things on the black market to help bring in the family's much-needed income.

It reminded her of her mother, Linda. That was how she got arrested all those years ago: selling on the black market. Caught by Peacekeepers. But it was fine with Genesis. She didn't care. She didn't need her mom. Linda never loved her children, and she was never there for Genesis when she needed her the most. _Good riddens…_

At least she had her father and her brother. Well, she _did_. She _used_ _to_. Unless…unless she won the 202nd Hunger Games. Yes, it seemed so impossible…but at the same time it didn't. She had seen the tributes from the other districts; she could overpower most of them, she knew, and leave the others to overpower each other. It wasn't impossible…

Genesis had gotten so lost in her thoughts that she almost forgot to watch the reaping of the district twelve male. But…she didn't need to see it again, no…she remembered it all too well from that morning. That cold, rainy morning…

There was a boy. A twelve year old boy in the front row who had gotten called. He immediately began sobbing, probably wondering how on Earth he was the one who had gotten reaped. He had looked so skinny and frail, like he stood no chance in the games. He continued weeping, shaking all over; he looked like he was going to collapse. Poor thing…

But then a voice, a strong, loud voice called out, "I volunteer!" It sounded so commanding and powerful, even over the noise of the pouring rain. Genesis was on the stage then, and she remembered feeling thankful. Feeling thankful that someone took the spot of the poor little kid who would've died in a second. But as the volunteer moved through the crowd, Genesis looked disturbed. He didn't look like the kind of valiant hero she expected to see. No…he looked ruthless, brutal. Like he would try to kill someone right then and there.

And she remembered hearing the volunteer, as he passed by the still-weeping twelve-year old with a stone-hard glare in his unforgiving eyes, say, "Pathetic kid…"

**Gino Busatil, age 18 (District 12 Male)**

"_My name is Gino Busatil, and I will win the Hunger Games." His voice was deep and expressionless. He stared out into the crowd through a pair of sinister-looking eyes, directing his gaze at the wimpy twelve-year old for whom he volunteered, and then at everyone else, too. He looked at all the other boys in district twelve who were too weak or scared to volunteer._

_And then he turned from the microphone and from the overjoyed escort, his gaze catching that of Genesis's. She saw him looking at her, just briefly, just for a second, and she felt…uncomfortable. He knew that, too; she feared him, he guessed, and he liked that. She was beneath him, and he knew she knew it. And that made him happy. Or, at least as happy as someone who felt no emotions could be…_

The games were so soon, but he wasn't scared. All of the other tributes were just so pathetic, either sucking up to the Capitol because they think they're the greatest fighters in the world, or crying in the corner because they're too scared of fighting. The only reason the careers had as much confidence as they did, Gino thought, was because they were called "careers." Everyone feared them, they feared that name, so the careers were looked upon as Adonis gods. But Gino couldn't wait to beat them, to shut them up, to make the tough-guy careers cry for mommy and admit that they're not at all as strong as they make everyone think.

And then there's all those kids who just make you want to feel bad for them because they're too weak to hold their own in the arena. They just look so pitiful, crying and not even being able to throw a knife because their arms are too weak to do anything of any physical purpose. And then they die, and their families back home are crying and crying and crying. But, what should they expect? If they raise a child who can't even defend themselves, who can't fight or doesn't know survival skills, do they have the right to weep unendingly for their poor little "angel" who suffered an "unfair" death in the terrible Hunger Games? It was annoying, Gino thought. They need to stop crying and open their eyes to reality: if their kid is wimpy and pathetic, do they really expect them to win the Hunger Games?

Gino didn't care, though. He didn't care how many people he'd need to kill. He didn't care if he needed to slaughter every single one of those precious little angels with his bare hands. He didn't care if he was hated by a tributes' families for killing their son or daughter. So what? What should they expect? That they're gonna play some fun games of hide and seek or something? No. This was the Hunger Games. People went in it to kill. People went in it to die. They should expect nothing less.

Gino stared at himself through the mirror, his face emotionless; he felt nothing. He didn't feel stress or anxiety or nervousness or sadness or anything. He was ready. His cloudy, dark brown eyes that almost looked black held nothing; no sadness in being reaped or interest in the world around him, or even excitement for the Hunger Games. They were simply dark and unrevealing.

His hair was black, messy and frizzy. And he was so tall, and his hands were so large, rivaling the strength of a career's. He had a very chiseled face and frame, looking like a hulking mass of pure sentinel strength.

Gino was bored of his room. He wasn't very hungry, but he thought that maybe he could find Genesis in the dining room. Maybe he could toy with her, mess around with her brain, let her realize just how much he _truly didn't care_. He had frightened her, he thought, at the reapings. For that split second, for that tiny quantity of time where his eyes fell into position with hers, he could feel the fear. He could _feel _it.

So he took a short walk to the dining room, where, thankfully, he found Genesis eating her meal innocently. She was watching the television, the district thirteen reapings. He figured she was studying up on her enemies; how pathetic…anyone who needed to "study up" was simply revealing that they were desperate and weak enough to resort to actually looking for weaknesses. Just a big waste of time, Gino thought. And it made her look stupid.

He opened the glass door to the dining room loudly, enough for Genesis to hear him enter. She turned around, surprised that he ventured out of his room. For a second she didn't know what to say, nor was she even sure that he wanted to speak. He looked as expressionless as ever as he made his way over to her table, ignoring the banquet of food on the other side of the room.

Genesis looked at him in the eyes, trying to match his cold glare with one of her own. She wasn't going to be afraid of him, just because he walked around looking tough and ruthless. She needed to believe that she was the best, someone who didn't feel intimidated. So she did her best to look unfazed by his entry.

She looked him up and down; he was huge and burly. He was also, as much as she hated to admit it, quite good-looking. He was tall, fair, handsome, and physically impressive. But she could only guess he was a jerk on the outside. Someone who was cruel and thought themselves better than everyone else.

Before he could say anything, Genesis said, "I'd thought you'd never show."

Gino rose his eyebrows. "Oh, you were expecting me?" He shook his head condescendingly. "You meant you'd _wish _I would never show." He leaned in across the table and glared at her again.

"Why are you doing this?" Genesis asked. "What are you, threatening me?"

It was hard to believe that Gino's eyes could've looked even colder and darker than they had before, but they did. He squinted at her, his face still entirely without emotion. He didn't feel anything. Not anger or frustration. He simply said, "Team up with me in the arena."

"N-no," Genesis stuttered, slightly taken aback. "I don't trust you." Was he being serious?

"You don't trust me?" The thought was almost funny to him. "Then enjoy death. You are stupid."

"You wouldn't actually ally with me," Genesis said. "You'd betray me. You've been glaring at me all day. You were mean to the kid at the square. You—"

"'Mean'?" Gino asked. He tried to look surprised, even though he didn't feel it. "Is it my fault that kid is such a baby? Is it my fault he would've been the first to die in the arena? No, it's not. So yeah, he was a pathetic kid. He couldn't even fight; he just cried and cried like mommy was gonna come rushing over to him. Such a baby…"

Genesis didn't like his words. She wasn't a weak tribute, she felt, by any means, but she still thought Gino was being rather aggressive. And unfair, to those who _were_ weak tributes. "You're just like a career," she muttered. "All you care about is killing."

"A career?" Gino asked. He was even more amused. "I am nothing like a career. Drive a dagger into a career's leg. You think he'll scream? You think he'll cry out? You think all that training he's been doing over the years and all that confidence he's gained in gonna keep him from whining and squirming like the little boy he is? I am nothing like a career."

"You're in for a surprise," Genesis said. "Because you'd do all those things, too."

"No." He shook his head. "Because I don't care. I don't feel pain. You, on the other hand…you look like you would care. A whole lot."

"What?" she asked, pointing confusedly at herself. "You don't know me. Stop acting like you do. Stop acting like you're better than me."

"I _do _know you," he said. "When I win the games, you'll be the pathetic girl from my district who was too stupid to turn down an alliance offer." He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. Still, his eyes looked the same as they always did, and his face still seemed unmoved.

"You know," Genesis said angrily, "I bet you have no friends. Not because you have a sad little story or because you were bullied as a child, but because _you're _the bully. And because everyone hates you. You probably hate your family and they probably hate you, too."

Gino actually let out a laugh. "No friends?" he asked, shaking his head. "You see this?" He pulled up his sleeve and revealed a tattoo on his wrist. It was a black skull with crossbones underneath, and flickering flames where the skull's eyes should be. "Hope Frimle, James Cort, Jasmine Smith, Conner Mathews, Jamie Yojie."

Genesis looked at the tattoo in disgust. And all these names he was spitting off…who were they? "Are you in—"

"A gang," Gino finished. "They'll do anything for me. Rob a house. Jump a stranger. Whatever."

The girl didn't like what she was hearing. "They're bad friends. If they'd do that kind of stuff for you. If they're true friends, they'd be helping you. Not committing crimes. A gang? Are you kidding me?"

"What? Is the tough life too much for you?" he spat, pulling his sleeve over his tattoo again. This girl was pitiful, dumb. Trying to defy him, was she? Tell him that life in a gang wasn't the way to live? He didn't care. Besides, he hated those people. Those five people whose names he rattled off. He just used them, he knew; they'd do anything for him because he told them he'd take the blame if they got caught. They were so stupid, he couldn't stand it. Couldn't even see that he was using them.

"I'm leaving," she said, pushing her chair out loudly. It screeched irritatingly against the wood on the floor, but Genesis didn't care. She didn't bother pushing it back in, either. "You're gonna get yours," she promised him. "You're not gonna win these games." She pointed her finger at his face for a second before stomping off. Gino, as usual, looked unfazed, and even rather amused by her antics.

"You know," he called back to her before she could leave. "You were right about one thing: I _do _hate my family." And then he chuckled, and Genesis didn't want to hear any more of it. She was gone before she could respond, even if she wanted to.

Gino nodded to himself, feeling accomplished. The girl wouldn't sleep well that night.

"_He came home…he was drunk. You…you were only four. I…I shouldn't be telling you this…"_

"_Tell me, mom."_

"_I…and then…" There were tears streaming down her face. "You were only _four_." she repeated. More crying. "He was drunk and he…was beating you. With his fists. Screaming things…you were crying, and…I can't…I can't tell you more. It was so horrible. And you…you were so young." His mother put her face in her hands and continued to cry. She remembered when her son, for just the first four years of his life, was happy and friendly. But then…but then after that night…it was like a new child was born. He was never happy, never smiled, didn't feel pain or love. And he was just _four_. _

_The twelve-year-old said, "I can hardly remember…but I hate him. I hate him so much." Gino despised his father; he had never remembered why…but he always felt it. And now…when he had turned twelve, his mother told the story…_

Genesis would die in the games. And so would everyone else. And Genesis. They all would. Every single one of them. Because they couldn't handle it. She would die. Because she couldn't handle it. They weren't ready for death. They weren't ready to kill people. They thought they were, but they weren't. They would all die. All of them. And Genesis, too.

_It was raining outside. It was dark and cold. Fourteen-year-old Gino was coming home late. His parents didn't know where he was, but he didn't care. His mom worked late, anyways, so she wouldn't even know he was out. And his father…Gino didn't care._

_He opened the door loudly, not trying to hide his late entry. He heard some commotion in the living room, something loud. He figured it was just his father getting frustrated by something, but he went to check anyway. _

_Lucy…his sister. His sweet, sweet four-year-old sister. And his father, he was there, standing over her. He had a look in his eye that…Gino thought he remembered. A look in his eye that seemed all too familiar…_

_And before Gino knew it, he was running toward his father, his fists balled up. He knocked the drunken man onto his back, cracking his head off the side table as he did. The man seemed shocked, too stunned to realize what was happening. He tried rolling back over, but Gino had him pinned against the ground._

_The boy spotted his mom's cleaning towel on the table, and without a second thought he grabbed it. His father was yelling obscenities, calling him a horrible child and Lucy too, but Gino was kneeling so strongly on the man's stomach that he couldn't get up._

_Then the boy pushed the towel into his father's yelling mouth, pushing it farther and farther in until only gurgles and gasps escaped from the man's voice. He struggled for breath, and looked at Gino with pleading eyes, but the boy did not budge. He did not move, or let his father's hands reach his mouth to pull out the towel._

_As the dying gasps of his father came to a close, Gino was looking at Lucy. At the bloodied four year old girl, who was crying and calling for her mother. She probably wouldn't remember that day, Gino realized…and for her sake, he hoped she never would…_

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**You've done it. You've officially broken me. I don't think I can write about any more awesome tributes. SO MUCH AWESOMENESS! **

**But wow, that Gino is sure gonna be a tough cookie :o And Genesis, love that name 3**

**Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts! And for this chapter...hmmm...this chapter's question will be this: of all the characters' backstories, which is your favorite? Yay!**

**Thanks for reading! :D**


	17. District 13

**Hey guys, I'm baaaaack :) I've been battling with a ton of work and all that boring stuff lately, but my workload should be lightening up over the next few weeks. So hopefully we can get this party started soon ;) Oh, and wow, only one more chapter before this whole thing finally starts! One district left...ONE more. Ahhhhh the excitement is killing me!  
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**Slappinthebassmon: Thanks for the review :) And yes, definitely fair to say Buck! She was awesome, so thanks. ;) And I'm glad you liked Gino and of course Foster and his relationship with Genesis. Very interesting! Thank you!**

**ghostleon: Yes, Gino is definitely crazy! I think that guy will certainly make an awesome addition to this story, since, he's kind of the first of his kind. I mean there are other deadly, strong, crazy male tributes, but wow...Gino. Anyway, thanks for the review! **

**CelestelzaFanLolz: Hahaha no not trying to kill you ;) But I can see why you think it's hard. As the author I'm falling in love with all these awesome characters you guys have created, so it would be hard for me to choose as well c: And I like your questioning what happened after Gino's incident. Hmmmmm...anyway, thanks for the review!**

**x FallingAshes x : Oh good! I'm glad you approve of Genesis and that you thought I portrayed her well! That means a lot, to be honest. :) And I really really liked your comment about Gino's refusing to accept and feel emotion, because, well...never mind. Let's just say I liked it ;) Oh, and I'm glad you're predicting a romance there...which is just another thing to make the Hunger Games even more complicated! Anyway, thanks for the review!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, HeyyMan, for the district thirteen female, and thank you, T1nyDanc3r, for the district thirteen male.**

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**District 13**

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**Isa Daniels, age 17 (District 13)**

_She wasn't allowed to go in the living room. She didn't know if she wanted to, anyway. But something…something kept her there, hidden behind the door, just out of view of her parents. Maybe it was her curiosity, or her anxiety…she didn't know._

_But thankfully, there was a obscuring set of oak doors that led from the living room to the kitchen. Doors that she hid behind, just barely peeping her eyes out through the slit in between. After a week of this she had become an expert, knowing to crouch quietly and not to breathe too loudly so as to keep herself concealed. Her parents were in there, day and night, watching the TV, holding each other in their arms. They looked so sad, they felt so sad. Isa could feel it. And she, too, was sad…_

_Their television was small, but Isa could still make out the careers, the cornucopia, yes…it was all so visible. And Aaron, too. Her brother. Her thirteen year old brother, just one month older than she was. Yes…she could see him, too. Even if she didn't want to…_

_He was next to a clearing, a large one, in the middle of the woods. And in the center of that clearing was a spring, full of cool, delicious water. It must have been so tempting…Isa couldn't remember the last time she saw her brother drink. And ten days…ten days in that arena with such little water. It was no wonder Aaron had been lingering around the clearing all morning, Isa realized. He was waiting…waiting to run in and get a quick drink._

"_Don't do it…don't do it, Aaron…" Isa remembered thinking. But she could see it in his eyes. He was going to make a run for it. But no… "No!" _

_And then he did, as fast as he could. Jumping through tall grass and over logs and rocks, his heart pounding and his legs shaking. His eyes told it all; he was scared, and Isa could see it. But he was there, at the spring. He knelt down and scooped up a handful of water, letting it touch his lips for just a second before he began guzzling it down. Isa's heart was jumping, nervous. She couldn't watch._

_But no…he was safe. There was no one there. No one at all. Besides, there were only eight tributes alive, Isa remembered. Only eight. And, as difficult as it was to believe, Aaron was one of those eight. He had braved himself through countless dangerous situations, right up from the bloodbath, where he was almost struck with an arrow. Isa admired his courage all throughout the game; he fended off a career once, formed a three-person alliance, and was sponsored twice, even. And now…and now it was his time to win. In a relatively career-free game, Aaron would become the second district thirteen tribute to ever win the Hunger Games…_

…_But there was a stir in the woods that morning. The district four male…_

_And then…it was all over. So fast, with a sharp spear. Isa remembered watching the sharp tip catching Aaron right in the back, and pushing right through. And the last thing she saw before letting out a desperate cry for her parents…was the spring. That perfect, crystal-clear watered spring, glimmering in the rays of the sun, a hidden gem in the middle of a paradisal clearing. And…she remembered the way it was then tainted, with her brother's red blood…_

And there she was, crouched down again, living in fear of what was on the other side of a door. Just like four years ago, she couldn't help but thinking. She saw through the glass door to the dining car that the district thirteen boy was on the other side. And that's all he was, she thought: a boy. He wasn't the kind of person or tribute she should have feared.

Isa was surprised he didn't see her, actually. Being a tall girl—six foot one—it was never easy to conceal herself. She wondered if her height would only serve to hurt her in the arena, making her stick out like a sore thumb.

But no…she was skinny, thankfully, so she could hide. And she was quite strong, even if she didn't look it. From all that working and hunting she did back in her district, she felt it only made sense that she'd already have a good physical advantage over some of her competitors. But physical prowess, she knew, was not all that was required of a tribute in the arena. Strength of mind was equally important.

And…less obviously…the _will_ to kill someone.

Isa looked back through the tinted glass into the dining area and straight into the eyes of the unaware district thirteen boy. It would be hard, she knew…to kill someone. To kill _him_. He was a fellow kid from district thirteen. It just seemed so…morbid killing one of her people, let alone someone from her district.

But no…that was why she was hiding. She didn't want to get to know him. She wanted to get back home to her friends and her family, and she wasn't going to let anyone get in her way. And besides…she liked being alone. Doing her own thing. And in her possibly last few days on earth, she wanted to spend her time as she liked to: with herself, her thoughts, her memories,_ and a feeling of security_.

Because, she knew, you never could be quite sure when someone you trust betrays you. She looked back at the boy. Even the innocent-looking ones. _"I hope dearly you have heard my words, and listened well. And I hope your children have, too; for if they are in these games, I hope they avoid doing exactly what you people did to lose the Capitol's trust."_

The President's words rang out through her mind. It was a year all about trust, President Jayce has reminded them, something that Isa felt a person could never bargain with. Or maybe…or maybe the President was trying to _encourage _alliances? She couldn't tell…

"_By the end of the Hunger Games, my goal is to teach your children that the consequence will always be worse than the betrayal."_

"'Always be worse than the betrayal'" She pondered that sentence in her mind ten times over. She found…safety in those words. Like if she were ever betrayed, her betrayer would get their comeuppance. But…was that really such a compensation after she would be betrayed to her death?

Her mind was racing. The safe thing to do was to go and hide in her room for the remainder of the train ride. That's what she _wanted_ to do. Go be alone…go be safe. But still…something kept her there, with her golden eyes squinting through the tinted glass into the unknown beyond that door. The unknown…

And then her hands, almost subconsciously, grasped at something dangling around her neck: a pendant. It was something her best friend, Allaya, back home gave her that morning. She let its small, silver back rest against her hands as she read the words painted in a black, cursive font on the front: "Luck has nothing to do with it."

Indeed…nothing in life was ever based on luck. Rather, a person's own will. Their will to do what they really wanted to do, no matter the consequences. _No matter the consequences…_

No, she wasn't hiding away in her room. She was outside that door for a reason, she realized.

And then Isa gripped the door handle, and pushed the door open…

**Clay Tyson Hoffman, age 13 (District 13 Male)**

"_It's Maybelle," the thirteen year old girl answered. Clay looked startled for a moment. What? Had he actually asked her for her name? He was so nervous. He didn't even know how he had built up the courage to ask. It just slipped out…_

_The twelve year old put his hand up to his mouth and his eyes went wide. The girl seemed friendly enough—yes, he knew she was friendly—but he was still a little scared. His face was looking down, his vibrant green eyes not meeting hers. Part of his short dark brown hair fell in front of them, concealing them even further. And his heart was pounding, and his words were caught in his throat. He just didn't want to sound like an idiot…_

"_I…"_

"_Clay, right?" she finished for him. He was shocked she knew his name, or even bothered to remember it. But it just made his heart flutter more and made him feel even more awkward. Clay bit his lip. He wanted to crawl into a hole right there, but he couldn't just chicken out like he usually did with people, making up excuses why he couldn't talk or pretending he didn't hear them address him in the first place…no…not with Maybelle._

"…_Yeah…" he said reservedly. "It-it's Clay…" He brushed the hair slightly out of his eyes, but he was still looking down at his shoes, a look of anxiousness on his face. Maybelle could see it in him, hear it in his voice. Most of the other kids would've walked away at that point, not wanting to put up with someone so antisocial._

_But Maybelle just smiled at him. "Don't worry, Clay," she said, giggling. "You can look at me. I won't bite." She noticed the way he grew nervous again, biting his lip, and she smiled. "You're cute."_

_He rose his eyebrows in surprise, even though she couldn't see. Did she say he was cute? Maybelle? He always loved Maybelle, but had never grown the courage to speak to her. And now…he didn't know what to say. He panicked again; why couldn't he just find the words? Why couldn't he just be able to communicate like a normal person, without feeling so self-conscious?_

_Without letting her see, he peered out the top of his eyes to look at her face. She was smiling at him, not judging him, not making fun of him. No, she was just being nice…_truly _nice. And so a small smile—a reserved and nervous one, but a small smile nonetheless—began to form across his lips, and he just barely lifted his head for her to look into his eyes…_

He was glad that he was alone. It was the way he liked it. He felt safe, secure. He thought the train ride was going to be brutal, talking to the escort and mentor all day about strategy and survival. They would've put so much pressure on him, or expected too much from him…

But at the very least, they weren't there. It was just him and Isa, whom he hadn't seen all day. But that was alright. She was big—tall—and looked pretty tough. When she had gotten reaped, he noticed there were scars all over her body, from who knows what. She just seemed…very intimidating.

Clay had finished his meal, but was still hungry. The Capitol had left out an entire banquet of food for the tributes to eat, so he assumed that going back for seconds wouldn't have been a bad thing. As he got up from his chair he realized just how alone and quiet it really was. He had turned the television off, neutralizing its noise, not wanting to be reminded of the reapings at all. He just wanted to isolate himself from the games and everything that made him think about them, and simply be left to die happily, with his own thoughts.

But then something broke the silence. It sounded like the door…yes. He turned around, and in walked Isa, he saw. He tensed up as he walked back to his table, wishing she was just taking a detour through the dining car. He wasn't ready for confrontation…

He sat himself back down at the table. His eyes were on the floor, on his shoes, whatever. As long as she didn't pay attention to him, he'd be happy. Clay heard her walk toward the table of food, grab a plate, and fill it. And then…and then he heard her coming his way. _No_, he thought, nervous. He really didn't want to get so stressed out around her, but now that she was here, in the moment, he found it hard to abandon his social awkwardness and act like the "normal" people he so longed to be like.

But she didn't sit at his table. Rather, the one next to him. He wanted to know if she was watching him, or even acknowledging him, but he didn't want to make eye contact. He just felt so awkward…

And so there was silence, save for the clanking of silverware on plates. Isa had one of her hands on the back of her neck as she ate, her face unwavering, while Clay stared at his still-empty plate, his head down. The girl looked at him out of the corner of her eye, not sure if she wanted to speak. He certainly didn't look threatening—he must've been one of the least threatening boys she had ever seen, being lanky and skinny and quiet—but instead rather friendly. Still, though. She couldn't let herself get attached to him so much that she wouldn't want to kill him. Or, even worse, so much that she'd trust him…

But then her eyes fell on her pendant again. And she thought about its words for a second, and remembered that she had gone into that room for a reason. She wasn't there just to eat, just to get out of her room…no…she was there to talk to Clay.

"Hey," she said to him, not too loudly. He looked shocked she was addressing him.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to make his sip of water last longer so she'd think he wasn't answering her because he was still drinking. But then he swallowed, and he realized he couldn't just ignore her. No…he didn't want to get on her bad side. "Hi," he said back, unconfidently.

Isa realized she didn't need to feel threatened at all. He didn't seem like the kind of person who would betray her, let alone even want to form an alliance with her in the first place. She wanted to keep speaking, but she didn't really know what to say. She wasn't good at driving conversations, but rather participating in them only at times when she had to. "I'm going to break the ice," she admitted, taking a leap of faith that was usual for her, "and ask you about yourself."

_Not good_, Clay thought. He couldn't answer that with just one or two words. No, he'd need to string together several sentences. But at the very least, he realized that his intimidation was fading… "I'm Clay Tyson. I don't have any brothers or sisters…" And then he trailed off for a second. What did a person say other than their own name and how many siblings they had? "My dad…is a graphite miner. And my mom's a nurse…" His voice was quiet and a little monotonous. She could tell he was just searching for anything in his life to tell her about, but honestly, she realized she would've done the same.

"That's good…" And then she realized she'd have to return the favor. "Both of my parents work in the mines." She left out that her father also chopped wood and worked on building houses for extra money, for fear that Clay would think them poor. In actuality, they lived a respectable middle class life.

And then the room fell into silence once more. It was hard, no doubt, for two typically anti-social people to communicate with each other, but they both felt they were doing a fine job.

Clay lifted his head slightly and looked over at the girl as she picked discerningly at her food. It was the first he had really gotten a chance to get a good look at her. She seemed kind, but at the same time, almost mysteriously dangerous. She was older, probably smarter, probably more experienced. He didn't want to just get used by her, no. And it certainly seemed like she didn't mind the rough life, what with all the scars on her legs and arms.

But then Isa interrupted his thoughts. "Do you…well…" She didn't know what to ask. "Do you…think you're ready for the games?" She spoke the words as innocently as possible so as not to sound like she was implying anything rude.

Clay didn't want to answer that question. Of course he wasn't ready for the games: he wasn't ready for a single aspect of it. Training, the interview, the bloodbath. None of it. But he didn't want to be negative. At least, he'd try not to be. "I…well, I can kind of use a sickle," he admitted.

Isa was shocked. A sickle, he said? What did a boy like him know about weapons, let alone a sickle? She assumed it was from his work—if he did any—back in district thirteen, but it seemed strange. Nevertheless, he would have a little bit of an advantage over some of the other tributes, maybe. "I'm pretty good at knife-throwing," she said shyly and modestly. "And…fist fighting."

She looked at her hands when she said that, and then up her arms, looking at all the scars and bruises. She looked at the scars, then back up at Clay, and then back down at her scars again. The boy curiously watched her—looking out of the corner of his eyes—and then asked, "Is that how you got those? Fist…fighting?" He tried to sound as polite as possible when he asked that.

Isa didn't answer right away. She realized she didn't really want to answer. "Well…you see…" She stopped for a second and looked shamefully back at the bruises. "Most of them are from work…or from hunting." She still looked reluctant about something. "But a few of them…I got from Peacekeepers…" She sighed, shaking her head almost shamefully.

Clay wasn't really sure how to respond, nor did he really know what her comment meant. From Peacekeepers? Why? He knew that all Peacekeepers liked to flaunt the importance of their occupation in everyone's faces by doing unfair things, but he didn't know they stooped so low as to give an innocent person scars.

That is, as long as Isa was innocent…

Isa answered his unspoken question for him. "You see…my brother…he…" And then she trailed off in sadness. "He was in the games." She held in her breath for a moment before she continued speaking. Clay just say listening to her, his eyes wide. He couldn't really relate to how she felt, being an only child, but he imagined the story didn't end well…

"And he…well, he was killed." Indeed, by a district four career. She hated thinking about the careers. Hated it. "So," Her voice was a little shaky and desperate, "my family became…outcasts of our town. Being the family with a dead tribute in it…"

Now Clay was truly at a loss for words. He wanted to comfort her, to console her, but he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. And in a person's times of sadness, it was _never_ wise to say the wrong thing…"So we…mainly me…got in trouble with the Peacekeepers. We became…a little rebellious. So I've been caught…trying to speak out against the Capitol." She shrugged a little bit, frowning. "One time…it was so bad that the Peacekeepers tried to sentence me to death…"

Clay looked surprised and concerned, and his face showed it. "Well…what happened?" He didn't feel like he needed to point out that she was alive and well.

"The mayor saved me from it, thankfully." She looked down at the pendant and its chain strewn around her neck. "He's my best friend's father."

"Really…?" Clay asked. She was lucky, he felt, that the mayor was on her side. Clay had to admit that Isa had quite a story. A sad story, he thought, too. For a second he wondered if thinking her threatening was just paranoia on his part. And so, trusting the girl a little bit more, he asked her if she had gotten in trouble again since that time, to which she responded in the affirmative. And they continued talking, slowly, awkwardly, but surely. Clay learned that Isa had three younger siblings, a group of triplets. He learned that she liked to hunt food for her family to help keep sufficient dinner on the table. And Isa learned a little about _him_, too. He told her, just briefly, about his life at school, and his friends. And the way his father wanted him to grow up to become a doctor, to get away from the family business in graphite mining.

They had a long, quiet, relaxed talk. And in the end, although they were still both unsure, they maybe thought that their talk was worth it after all…

"_Here," she said, holding out her hand. Clay looked down at Maybelle's clenched fist, and then up into her eyes. She smiled at him, and he faintly smiled back, trying to muster whatever strength he had left to believe that the world was still good. To believe that just maybe when the Peacekeepers came in to whisk him away to the Capitol, his life wouldn't be over._

_Clay extended out his own hand, letting it rest beneath hers. And when he looked down, he was holding a friendship bracelet. It was so simple, but so beautiful. It was a token, a representation of the good relationship they had with each other. And it was a reminder, that there was someone out there looking after him._

"_Take it," she said, her voice soft. "It always brought me luck," she insisted. "So…let's hope it brings you home."_

_The boy wanted to break down and cry right there, but he tried not to. He tried to hold back his emotions, and let know he appreciated her gift. Clay thanked her, accepting the token whole-heartedly. And then the two exchanged a hug, a long, relaxed hug, saying their good-byes without even expressing the words. And then they let go of each other, just barely, and Clay looked up. He pushed the hair out of his eyes, and looked _directly_ into hers. "Thank you, Maybelle…"_

* * *

**Ahh so much love. So much emotion. These tributes are awesome guys :) **

**So of course I would love for you guys to let me know what you thought c: and without further ado, let me get on to the question: which non-career tribute do you think will fare the best in the arena? I think it's a tough choice right there, but I'd like to hear what you guys have to say.**

**Oh, and next chapter will be the first poll! :o Which is extremely important and exciting and I can't wait :) **

**Until then, goodbye! (and here's to hoping I can finish the train rides really really soon!)**


	18. District 14

**Wow...we are finally here. After all these train rides, we have finally arrived at the final one!  
**

**But first things first, an ANNOUNCEMENT: the first poll has been put up in my profile. This poll, and the ones to follow, will ask which tributes are your favorite. In this particular poll, you may vote up to 7 tributes, so please vote tributes other than just the ones you've created (if you've created any). The results of this and the following polls will make up about HALF of what helps determine which tributes stay alive (the other half includes a combination of reader participation and my own decisions). So please, vote vote vote! Because this is very important for keeping your tributes alive! Thanks! (Also, for those of you who have created tributes, I've PMed you a similar message in case you did not see this announcement).**

**Now that that's done, I have a good ol' fun fact for you! The LAST tribute to be revealed in this ENTIRE story, the district 14 male, was the FIRST tribute submitted to me. Funny how life works, huh?**

**CelestelzaFanLolz: Hahaha great review! I love your reviews, always full of so much excitement. :p Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed the new characters and their stories! I agree, they definitely had some sad stories and sad moments. It's gonna be such a shame to (maybe) kill them off. Anyway, thanks for your review and your continued support!**

**ghostleon: I like to see you supporting your character! Lokius is a pretty cool dude, and you never know when someone unexpected is going to do well. Anyway, I'm glad you liked the new chapter. Thanks for your continued support, as always! :)**

**x FallingAshes x : Oh noes! I hope you're not dead! xD Haha I'm glad you liked the characters, especially Clay. I too have to admit that there are SO MANY likable tributes! It's NOT gonna be easy to make these decisions :( And now...I'm happy to present to you the moment you've been waiting for. I just want to say that writing this chapter was awesome. Maybe it helps that the tributes this chapter were awesome, but yeah. Thanks for submitting this character, because I don't know what I would do without her. :) SO GOOD. Thanks for the review :)**

**HeyyMan: Oh good I'm glad you liked Isa! :D I tried to portray her as best as a could, and it was fun, too. ;) So I'm glad it all worked out. And thanks for your review! I hope you're ready to get into the games soon! **

**T1nyDanc3r (16): Ooooh that sounds tough :/ College entry exams. NO THANK YOU :( But anyway, I'm glad Gino scared you. :p I think that's a good thing, because that's definitely what I was going for! And yeah, I think Genesis is pretty strong given that she's not a career tribute, so thanks for mentioning that. And thanks for answering the question! That IS a good storyline, Max and Carmili. You can thank BecauseofKillianJones for that :) Thanks for your review! **

**T1nyDanc3r (17): Haha! I'm soooo glad you approve of Clay! He was awesome! So much different than everyone else. I LOVED writing him! He'll definitely make a good addition to the story. And your answer to the question sounds pretty accurate, at least based on what information I've given you. So kudos ;) Anyway, thanks for the review! Hope you enjoy the FINAL train ride!**

**Disclaimer: Thank you, x Falling Ashes x, for the district fourteen female, and thank you, ShootingForWishingStars, for the district fourteen male.**

* * *

**District 14**

* * *

**Kaelei "Kae" Cross, age 17 (District 14 Female)**

"_Ripple, can I please come with you? _Please?" _eleven-year-old Kaelei asked. She looked up at her older brother with her pleading, bright blue eyes. She sounded so innocent, so loving. And Ripple loved that about her, so without a second thought he nodded._

"_Yeah, Kae!" He motioned with his hand for her to follow him. She ran from their porch excitedly, catching up to her brother and the boy next to him, his best friend Urius. Kaelei loved spending time with them, even though they were older, and even though Ripple was just her brother. But still, they had an indescribable bond, the kind all siblings should have with each other._

"_So where are we going?" Kae asked, curious. She wiggled herself in between Ripple and Urius to make sure she didn't feel left out. Urius just smiled at her as he always did, and Ripple couldn't help but laugh. "The ocean." It was Urius who responded. "To swim!"_

_Kaelei looked down at her school clothes. "I should've changed," she realized. But then she shrugged. "But that's okay."_

"_Or maybe we'll just take a walk," Ripple answered. "It's a little chilly out as it is." It certainly was, Kae and Urius had to agree. Unusually chilly for the time of year, especially for district one. It was probably going to rain later. Kae hoped not._

"_So how was school, Kae-Kae?" Urius asked, ruffling her hair. He loved doing that to her, and calling her that name. As far as Kae was concerned, Urius was just like a brother to her. Not quite as good as Ripple, but still good._

"_Oh, great!" she reflected. "I met some new people in class today! These girls from district twelve. Their parents struck it rich out there, so they moved here to fit in, or something. They're gonna be my best friends, I think. We clicked like _this_!" Kae snapped her fingers together to show just how well she and the new girls "clicked"._

_Urius stifled his smile and looked at Ripple, who loved to hear of his sister's exploits. "You didn't scare them off, I hope," Ripple joked. Kae just folded her arms and fake-pouted, but then gave up the facade and laughed, punching her brother jokingly._

"_I did not!" _

_And then the three of them laughed light-heartedly. Urius had that goofy smile on his face while Kae still pretended to be mad. Ripple just smiled and laughed to himself, realizing just then how lucky he was. To have a great friend. To have a great sister. To have great parents. To be part of a rich family. Everything was good. Everyone was happy. _

_Those thoughts lingered on his mind that day. As they went to the ocean, as they splashed around for a little before getting too cold, and then walking themselves dry all the way home. And by the time they finally did get home, by the time Urius had gone back to his house, it was night. It was stormy, pouring rain, horrible weather…but there was something beautiful about that night. It became obvious when he looked at his sister, at his life, at everything._

_And then he remembered walking to the fridge that night for a snack before bedtime. There was a phone call—something business-related, no doubt. There was the doorbell. Who could it be so late at night? Business-related, he concluded. He saw mother go to open the door. Odd. Usually his father dealt with thebusiness agents._

_Wait…his father._

_Ripple's eyes wen't wide._

"_I'm sorry ma'am," the voice on the other side of the door said. "But we are here to confirm the earlier call. We have indeed confirmed the body of your husband washing up on shore tonight, along with the remains of his boat. It was unforeseeable, truly. The weather tonight was unexpected. The storm got him."_

_The storm got him…_

_The storm got him…_

_Those words played through Ripple's mind that night as he sat dazed, crying in his mother's arms for hours. He remembered it all too well. _

_Kae was asleep by then, he remembered. And he was thankful she was._

Kaelei remembered waking up the next morning to hear the news. Remembering it now, six years later, did nothing to quell the pangs of anger at the world. It just wasn't fair. And now…and now she was stuck in the Capitol's horrible games. On a train. In the rain.

The rain…

No! It wasn't an omen! It couldn't have been. But it was all too reminiscent. The way she and Ripple and Urius played in the water, the way she took life for granted, she thought. Her life was too good, she realized. Maybe it was the world's way of getting back at her, killing her father.

And worse yet…she had gone to bed that night without even realizing her father was out at sea. Wasn't he supposed to be making business deals that night? Or _something_? Anything but going out to sea! He loved that boat, Kae remembered…he loved it…

And then her mind shifted. She thought of her mother. Her poor, sweet mother. She didn't take his death well. No, not at all. Without the loving warmth of her husband, without him by her side, it was hard. And so, she was forced to work, to become the family's primary wage-earner. She worked hours upon hours, the work making her tired, exhausted, angry at the world. And sad, too. Working so long gave her too much time to think.

To think about her husband. And to let the depression sink in.

"_Mom? Have you seen Mom? I heard a noise," Ripple said urgently, waking Kae up. At first she groaned, moaned, tried to push him away. But after a few seconds she let the words sink in. She opened her eyes; the room was dark, but she could see her brother standing over her, looking wide-eyed and very awake._

"_What?" Kaelei asked, still groggy._

"_Mom…" Ripple repeated. "I heard a loud slam. And…she's not in her room!" He urgently bade Kae to follow him. Almost instantly, she became awake. She knew her mother had been acting strangely over the past few weeks. And now…four years after their father's death…Kae didn't know what to think._

"_Let's go," Ripple urged, throwing some clothes at Kae and rushing her to put them on. She did so quickly while he slipped a different shirt on. And then they were out of her room, running down the halls, calling, "Mom! Mom!" but hearing no response._

"_She's not here! She must've gone out…" Kae said, desperation and anxiety in her voice. They turned down the hall and descended the grand staircase that led down into their foyer. "Where—"_

"_She—no…" Ripple cut himself off short. He had a feeling…he had a feeling he knew what happened. But he didn't want to say it. No, not in front of his sister. He feared…that their Mom may very well still be in that house…but not in the way they wanted._

"_Let's go!" Kae urged, tugging on her big brother's arm. "Please!" Outside!" And then she let go, and ran toward the door. Ripple followed her shortly thereafter, keeping an eye out for any sign of what might have happened that night. His mind was racing, his heart was pounding. No…they couldn't lose their mother now, too…_

_A harsh wind greeted the brother-sister pair as they exited their mansion. It was cold, howling. It was so dark out, too. Darker than usual, they felt. The moon was hidden behind wispy, abstract-shaped clouds, just a shimmer of its light taunting them and leading the way._

"_Where is she?!" Kae asked her brother, her voice almost yelling. He thought she was crying, but he couldn't tell. His head was whirling with thoughts. Suicide, death…no. What would they do? What would they do if their mother had died? Had _killed _herself? He took Kae's arm and tried pulling her away from the house, to the street, but she fought him off, tears rushing down her face. She knew…he knew she knew. People didn't disappear without a reason, let alone a depressed one._

_A gush of wind blew Kae's dark red hair into her face, but she didn't care. She just listened…listened to the whipping of the air around her. She felt weightless, just for a second. She felt good almost, like life wasn't as horrible as she thought it was. But then she remembered her mother…_

_And the sounds of the whipping wind grew louder, and louder, until…_

"_By the ocean!" a Peacekeeper called. "A woman screaming! I called it in! Someone picked her up. She's safe!" The Peacekeeper was a block or two away, running alongside another man in uniform. One of them was talking to the other and calling something in on his wakie-talkie. Something about a woman…_

"_She's safe." Those words played through Kae's mind. She was safe…_

Safe but insane, Kae reflected. Of course any woman screaming and running out into the ocean during the middle of the night screaming for her husband to come back wasn't the kind of person a Peacekeeper would want to put up with. Let alone the kind of person they'd want to live in the "immaculate" district one.

So shortly after being arrested by the Peacekeepers that night, her mother was sent away to district fourteen, where she'd spend who knew how long in one of the asylums. Her mom's life, Kae realized, was over. Once you were sent to district fourteen, along with all the other psychopaths, lunatics, serial killers, and the like, there was no coming back. If it was known you spent time in district fourteen, no one would _want _you back.

But there had been a way, Kae realized. There had been a way to save her mother, to keep her from that prison-like asylum and return her back to the district where she belonged. Too bad the only way…truly, _truly_, had ruined her life…

"_Take this. You'll need it." Ripple cupped his hands around Kae's open palm and gently left something small in her grasp. For a second Kae didn't even look at it, too depressed, sad, angry, to even care. She just looked at her brother, tears streaming down her face, the little make-up she had on ruined. She didn't need to ask it, since her face did enough to beg the question: "why?" _

"_I'm sorry…" Ripple said. He felt himself getting emotional. He was eighteen that year. His last year eligible for the Hunger Games. And so…he volunteered. He volunteered with only one thought on his mind: if he won, if he managed to beat out the twenty-seven other tributes…he could save his mother. The Capitol loved the victors. It would do anything for them. Even if it meant releasing his mother from district fourteen…_

"_She needs our help," Ripple pleaded. "You must understand."_

_Kae did, but she couldn't accept it. She couldn't. Not Ripple now, no…_

_Where had her perfect life gone? First her father, then her mother. And now…no! It couldn't be true…_

"_Look…" Ripple said, nodding at her hand. She still hadn't looked down at what he had given her. "Please…"_

_And so she did. Slowly looking down. And in her hand she saw a token, a silver necklace. Of a bird spreading out its wings. It looked so…beautiful. So perfect, pure. Words couldn't describe it, the wave of emotion, the wave of beauty she felt when she saw the bird. It made her feel…like life was maybe worth living…_

Kae fingered at the necklace hanging around her neck. It was there, always there, when she needed it most. When she needed to look down at the bird, and remember that there was still beauty left in the world. To remember that there was still something happy in her life, something that made life seem like just a game. Nothing to worry about, just a game…

She thought of her brother. The way he hugged her good-bye before setting off into the unknown. Into the Hunger Games. And then…the way he was killed. The way the Hunger Games had taken his life, as they had done to twenty-six other poor children that year. So close, he was, too. He made it so close to the end…

Had his alliance, the rest of the Career pack, not turned on him. Not betrayed his trust. Not used him for their own gain, just to stab him in the back a few days later. _Trust…_it was such a funny thing, Kae realized. Such a funny thing.

And now, look where she was. Back where her brother had been just two years ago. And maybe…just maybe…she would be there to save her mother.

There was mirror next to the door of her room. A circular, almost haunting mirror. From where she sat on her bed she could just see part of her face, so she stood up, not afraid to hide. Not afraid to run. She saw a new girl in the mirror that night. Not the playful, giddy, ignorant child she had been years before, who thought her life was perfect. No…she saw someone new. A new girl. The girl had matured, began to understand what life was all about. The girl who faked insanity just so she could be sent away to district fourteen so she could take care of her mother.

She looked at this girl for a second. At her big, electric blue eyes, and her dark, near-black eyelashes. And there was her hair, dark red, curly, that ran down to the middle of her back. She saw the small, light freckles on her nose and cheeks; she had always had those. They helped define her. Make her who she was. Her skin had a nice tan to it, as well, accentuating her curves nicely. She liked herself, for better or for worse. She was herself, and there was nothing a person could do about that.

And if she was stuck in a world where horrible things happened every day, where fathers died at sea, where mothers went insane, and where brothers died to save their family…she might at least be appreciative about something.

And she was holding her necklace all the while…

**Armani James Byun, age 18 (District 14 Male)**

_He didn't want to. He didn't want to keep studying. He didn't want to be a businessman, to follow his father's footsteps. But he had no choice. The man himself, Marc Byun, was standing over his shoulders, trying to teach his son the real meaning of business…and of what it would take to run Byun Enterprises when he longer did. But still…business? Armani didn't think he was cut out for that._

_The fourteen-year-old boy groaned. He was too young for this, he decided. But his father was still next to him, pointing to papers, teaching him the ins and outs of being a businessman. Armani didn't really understand, or maybe he just wasn't really interested._

_But his father wouldn't want to hear that. He was well-known, famous around district one. His son, a Byun, would _have _to take over the enterprise, to keep his father's legacy intact, of course. "Dad, I don't know about this…" Armani would say. It was no use, however. There was no arguing with a famous businessman, after all._

_There was a voice behind them, a woman's. It was his mother, Tiffany. She stalked over to her husband and gave him a long, disgusting kiss. Armani looked away, rolling his eyes. Naturally, the woman was dressed in her expensive furs and adorned with her jewels and hair ornaments. His mother was his father's "secretary," even though Armani knew she spent more time talking to her friends on the phone and doing her make-up than actually working. But Tiffany didn't care, and neither did Marc: they were rich, so they were happy._

"_Mom, do you understand this stuff?" Armani asked her. He didn't really know why he did: of course she didn't understand that stuff. Perhaps he just wanted to be an instigator, make her look stupid, he wasn't sure. _

_Tiffany gave him a half-hearted look through her sunglasses and murmured something. And then she kissed her husband again, fixed the oversized purse on her shoulder, and walked out of the room. Armani didn't even want to know where she planned on going. To her wardrobe, no doubt, to find another outfit to wear._

"_Back to work," his father reminded him. Armani grunted again, kicking gently at the chair next to him. He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all. He pretended he was reading the papers in front of him, but in actuality he was looking out the window. At that familiar twelve-year-old girl outside._

_It was his sister, Olivia, doing something in their front yard. He longed to go outside with her, to talk to her, to complain about Marc and Tiffany and about how much he hated the business world. And as usual, he knew she would listen. She always did, and she always supported him. Told him that things were going to get better. Told him that he should be able to do what he wanted to do with his own life._

_She was the best sister someone could ever ask for…_

He missed her. He really did. It was about the only thing he missed. She was such a kind person, so helpful, so loving. _No!_ he corrected himself. She _is _a kind person. It didn't matter what happened two years ago, it didn't. She would forever be kind…even in death.

The memories played through Armani's mind like a video on fast forward. Sweet, sweet Olivia, getting lured into a trap at just fourteen years old. He had warned her, he did. He didn't want her hanging around with that eighteen-year-old boyfriend of hers. He was so _old_, so unlike her. Armani never understood why she loved him anyway.

And then, and then…of course, life had to be cruel. It had to take away the one and only thing he ever loved. He remembered trying to fall asleep the night of her death. It was so hot in his bedroom that the heat kept him awake, bothering him and making him want to cool off in the lake or something. He remembered staring at the ceiling, wanting nothing more than sleep. To let his dreams take him over, to advance him to the next day in what would feel like one short minute.

He had stood up, too bothered by the heat. And he had walked to his window, he remembered, to open it. But still, the air outside had been so stuffy, it didn't even help. He remembered hanging his head out the window for a few minutes, praying for a breeze. But one had never come.

Instead, a scream.

His sister.

And so he had run, as quickly as he could. What was wrong? Why had she screamed? And then, as fast as his footsteps could carry him, he had been at the door. At her bedroom door, where he had heard the scream. But remembered being afraid. Afraid of what was waiting for him on the other side.

And that was when he found her body. Her dead, bloodied body on the floor of her bedroom, with her boyfriend looming above her and some of his friends alongside him, guns and knives in their hand. They were part of a gang, Armani had realized then. And even though he had been outnumbered, even though he had been tired beyond reason, he charged. He ran, straight at the attackers, snatching a gun from their hands and shooting them. Shooting them all…

Armani grunted as the memory finished playing in his mind. Why? Why did life have to be so cruel? To take away the one person who was ever nice to him? _Is _nice to him, he corrected, not accepting her death.

And that was it, he realized. That had been the end of his life. No one from district one, none of his friends, ever knew where he had gone. They never knew what had happened, or even that he had been taken to district fourteen after being charged with murder. "He ran away, one night…" his father told everyone, trying to sound depressed, trying to sound like their family was doing everything in their power to get Armani back.

But no…no one wanted a psychopathic killer to ruin their business…

"Hello?" a girl's voice broke him from his trance. He remembered he was in the dining car, having gotten something to eat. And then he looked up, seeing Kae. She was there, walking to the table of food, her face expressionless.

Armani analyzed her for a second, his dark brown, lifeless eyes searching for anything on which to base his opinions. She looked unfazed, unhappy. She looked decently strong, as well. Which made sense, he realized, since she was from district fourteen. And then she brought her food over toward him, toward his table, and sat down.

"So, what'd you do?" she asked.

"What?" Armani questioned her back, his voice gruff and unwelcoming. Kae stole a glance at him, looking at the boy in front of her, trying to learn something about him. Or at the very least, who he was, and what he was all about. She saw his honey-blonde, ear-length hair. His peach-colored skin. Covered with bruises and scars and injuries. And his eyes, those dark eyes…but still, she saw something in them. A hint of green, just a little bit…

"What did you do," she repeated, "to get yourself in district fourteen?"

Armani huffed. "I killed people. But I don't care…" He shook his head, annoyed. Then he folded his arms slightly, and Kae saw just how muscular he really was. Almost career-worthy, she realized.

"Who? Why?" she asked, curious. She wanted to learn a little bit about him at least.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he said, his voice unwavering. "Why? What'd _you_ do?" For being so nosy, the least she could've done was answer her own question for him, he thought.

"It's…it's a long story. I, well…" She looked down at the necklace dangling around her neck, and reminded herself to stay strong. "I faked insanity," she told him. "For my mother."

"What?" he asked, almost annoyed. "So, you didn't even do anything?" He was disappointed. "You don't deserve to represent district fourteen," he pointed out, his voice trailing off. "I thought…" Then he shut his eyes, grinding his teeth. Kae didn't really understand why he was getting so angry.

"Sorry…" she apologized, not so sure why. "It's just…I would do anything for my mother. So…"

"Yes." He waved her away. He understood what it felt like to love a person. He didn't need to hear it from her.

"Haven't you ever loved someone before?" she asked, concerned he hadn't. He looked like he was fighting something off.

"Didn't I tell you I didn't want to talk about it?" he asked, sounding even angrier than usual.

"No," Kae answered, sounding serious. "You told me you didn't want to talk about what sent you to district fourteen. I guess they must be related, though."

Armani shook his head, trying to sound her out of his mind. His felt his hands fidgeting, clenching around his silverware. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to talk about it… "I thought you were a true killer, or something," he told her. "You don't care about district fourteen. You don't care about our district at all."

"Why?" Kae asked him, slightly offended. "Don't say that. I want to win as much as anyone else does. Besides, district fourteen has never won before. They—"

"I know," Armani cut her off. "But you don't know what it's like. You're just a little girl who likes flowers and butterflies. You've never done anything wrong, so I'm disappointed. I wanted an ally, not someone to babysit."

"Babysit?!" Kae burst. "Oh, I promise you won't have to babysit me," she said. "Trust me, I know that life sucks. I know what it's like. And trust me, I'm a lot stronger than you think. I'm not afraid to kill anyone, so don't think that I am."

"Good," Armani said sarcastically. "Then you'd do great at killing off the district six tributes then."

Kae stopped for a second. At first she was ready to yell back at him, but his comment just caught her off guard. "District…six? Why?"

"Haven't you heard?" he asked. "The guy from the district, 'Joust,' or whatever. He killed twenty prisoners from district fourteen. Killed them outright! And now he's gotten himself in the games! He thinks he's tough. He thinks he can kill whoever he wants just 'cause he used to work for the Capitol. He thinks he's better than us. Than me. What right does he have? To just kill off—"

"I don't know the story," Kae cut in, honest. "I don't know what happened. I…I will kill off the district six people like I would any other tributes. Don't you worry…"

"Well I am," Armani answered her. "Because you didn't even hear of that story. You say you're a part of district fourteen, but it sure doesn't sound it." He had stopped eating by then, his knife and fork out of his grasp so he could use all his strength to debate. "Go home," he told her at last.

Kae was furious. "You tell me to go home? Why? Because you can't get over the fact I'm not a psychopathic killer? Well guess what? I _can _be. _Trust _me. I'll kill them all off. The careers included." She remembered her brother, and the way the careers turned on him at the end of his games. "So back off, Armani." She pointed a finger at him. "Because I have to avenge my brother."

Hearing that made him stop talking. He looked shocked, but still angry. Her brother…was he dead, too? Like his sister. No…everything they talked about always led back to his sister. Everything. "I told you I didn't want to talk about that, so just _shut up_!" He pushed himself out from his chair and stood up, trying to look threatening. And he did. For a second, Kae thought he was going to leap over the table and strangle her right then and there.

But she stayed confident. She didn't care how big he was. "What, did you lose someone, too?" She figured he must have, for he freaked out at her as soon as she mentioned her deceased brother.

"_Stop_!" he screamed. "You don't know anything! So don't act like you do!"

"A sibling? Armani, we can talk about it. I know how it feels…I know how it feels to lose someone. I can help you. I…I can help you get through it. My brother…he was the kindest person in the world to me…"

And instantly Armani thought of his sister. "Olivia _is _the kindest person in the world to me!" He pushed his plate off the table and yelled something unintelligible. Kae was slightly taken aback, and pushed herself from her seat, standing up, ready to defend herself.

But Armani was a hulk compared to her. He was strong, ruthless, and standing at six feet, was half a foot taller than she was. "Remember this, Kaelei!" he yelled. "I don't have to listen to you! You're not the boss of me! So you better stay out of my way!"

Kae didn't know how to answer. She watched him for a second, and then gasped.

Armani kicked over the table they were eating at, the plates smashing on the ground, the wood on the table splintering and snapping. Then Armani pushed past her, huffing and breathing heavily, his eyes on the door. He didn't bother giving her a second look before reaching for the handle, pulling it open, and then slamming the door behind him as he left.

That girl had some nerve, he thought. To mess with him…

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**Ahhhhhh! I love it! Absolutely love it! I can't wait to keep writing these characters! And HOW am I going to kill them off? I'm still thinking...**

**Anyway, thank you for reading! I'd love to hear what you have to say! And for the final train ride chapter question, I will ask this (pretty predictable): out of ALL the tributes, which one is your favorite (other than one that you've submitted, if you've submitted any)?**

**And don't forget to vote in the poll! Up to seven choices!**

**Thanks!**


	19. Training Day 1

**Yaay! The first training day! I hope you're all excited to read. :) Because it was a ton of fun to write. Anyway, I'd like to apologize first and foremost because I will not be responding to your reviews this chapter, but will respond to ALL of them next chapter (I literally have like five minutes to type these author's notes before I have to leave, so sorry 'bout that!)**

**Anyway, please please please enjoy the first chapter. And REMEMBER: if you haven't voted in the poll already, you still have time! So please vote ! Thanks! :)**

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**Training Day 1**

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**Carmili Lucia "Carminha" Moreira, age 17 (District 4 Female)**

What was going on? Nothing was making sense. Being from district four, and formerly from two, Carminha knew quite a bit about what the games were about…and that morning had not been it. Wasn't there supposed to be some grand chariot ride for the tributes, to present themselves to the Capitol and show themselves off? To get themselves dressed up in outfits that represented their district and wave to the crowd, or—depending on your angle—_not_ wave to the crowd?

She had been ready for that, too. To wave to the crowd, smiling happily, pretending to like the Capitol. Pretending to like everything the games stood for, while knowing full well in her heart that she hated everything about them. But no…no chariot ride. Instead, nothing. It was acknowledgeable that most things the Capitol did were stupid—like the showy, flashy chariot rides themselves, for instance—but Carminha almost found herself longing for them. Something about the way the Capitol treated the tributes that year, almost like they were worthless, made her feel…unsettled. And so, they rode to the Capitol that morning in no chariot…

And worse yet, they were haughtily forced into the Training Center by a few of the Capitol's Peacekeepers. There was no preparation…nothing. Were they really going to start training already? The day they entered the Capitol? No…the _hour_ they entered the Capitol? Something seemed off…

And where were the mentors and escorts?!

These were the thoughts that invaded Carminha's mind as she walked alongside Zale into the Training Center. They were the fourth group of tributes to arrive, the others still completing their trek via train to the Capitol. Which meant…yes. Carminha had been waiting for this all morning: Maxwell. He was there, inside the building already. Waiting for her. Well, no, not waiting for her. He couldn't have known she was still alive…could he have?

Her brown eyes scanned the walls of the Training Center's lobby. It was a clean building; it felt clean. It was cold, as well, and the reflective marble tile that was the floor made it seem ever-colder. A receptionist stood at the counter along the side of the massive lobby; Carminha didn't know what the woman's purpose was, and she didn't question it.

The Peacekeeper leading them was walking fast. He took them to the far end of the lobby, to an elevator sunken into the wall. It blended well, Carminha thought. But the thought quickly evaporated from her mind; Max was somewhere nearby. He was here…after all this time. He was finally here…

The elevator couldn't descend quickly enough. Zale could tell Carminha was nervous about something. He could read it on her face, and he thought, just maybe, he knew what she was thinking. Yes…that boy he had seen on the television, the one she was staring at…indeed, she was thinking about him…

And then the elevator doors opened up to a long corridor. Bright lights illuminated the hallway, making Carminha almost dizzy as she walked the long length of the corridor. It felt like such a long, long walk…but then they were there, at a large, black door. A door that Carminha could only guess led them to the training room. So soon, she thought again. Why were they training so soon?

And then, as they always did, her thoughts changed: Max…he was in there. So soon…she would be in there with him.

The doors were opened by the Peacekeeper, who then led them into a large black room. All throughout the massive room were various stations and sub-rooms. And there were other things, she saw: weapons and books and anything else imaginable that could be required for the Hunger Games. It certainly was the grand training room she had heard so much about during her time living in district two.

From knives, to axes, to plant life, to camouflage, to knot-tying, to bomb-building. Everything. And yes…there was something else…

_There was Max._

Carminha stopped walking for a second as she laid her eyes on him. Her legs couldn't move her. She froze, stared, her eyes wide; she felt like a tear or two was going to fall out of them instantly.

There he was. The boy she remembered. His short, curly brown hair. Yes, she always loved his hair. And he was tall, and looked so strong. Yes, she knew him. She knew him well. And then she smiled, her emotions overtaking her at the same time, making a few tears fall from her face and making her smile looked more like a crazed grin. But no, she was happy. So happy, she was crying. So happy, her legs could still not move. Move to the boy she loved. And would forever love…

"Max…" she said, her voice louder than usual. She wanted him to hear her, to feel her voice, to make sure he knew it was her. Her hair had been dyed blonde after her supposed "death," but surely…surely that wouldn't matter. He would know…she knew he would know. With tear-stained eyes, Carminha looked at the boy, desperation, but also happiness, on her face.

But Max just looked confused. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he didn't say a word. He didn't say he was happy to see her again. He didn't look excited, enthralled. Carminha stood awkwardly, disappointedly, realizing that the only Carminha he knew was dead. But no…she wasn't…

How could he not remember? He had loved her, she knew. They had been the best of friends, she recalled. It was impossible, unthinkable. There was no way—

"Carminha…?" he asked, his voice soft, his eyes wide.

And then Carminha's mouth hung open slightly. Yes…he _did_ remember…

For a second there was silence, shock and awe on both of their faces. To see each other in the flesh, it was something neither of them had imagined would be possible ever again. But somehow, almost ironically, it was the Hunger Games, one of the things Carminha hated most, that brought them together.

"I thought…" Max's words hung in the air, his face still one of confusion and surprise.

"I know…" Carminha said, nodding, holding her breath, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

All of the determination and cruelty in Max's face had long since disappeared. He had gone into that training room with only one thought in mind: to show the other tributes what he had to offer. To show that he was the strongest, the readiest, and the ultimately best tribute in the arena. But all of that was gone when he looked at Carminha.

And then, simultaneously, as though the two had read each others' minds, they moved toward each other, and at last fell into each others' arms. They embraced whole-heartedly, memories from their past lives rapidly playing back through their minds. As they hugged each other, they felt alive again…

"The Dutchess…" he whispered her nickname in her ear. And another tear fell from her eyes.

"The Skin…" She did the same. Those nicknames they had made for each other all those years. They seemed so significant now, not just stupid names they had come up with when they were children.

And then Max repeated, "But, I thought…"

She knew what he thought. "I didn't die that day," she whispered. Those words made Max's heart turn soft. "They just made you think it…"

"Carminha…" he said slowly, trying to find the right words. After all these years, after all this time, he needed to say it. He needed to say it now. "I love you, Carminha."

**Clay Tyson Hoffman, age 13 (District 13 Male)**

He had the shivers. He didn't know if it was from the cold building he was in, or from his fear of the games. He rubbed his hands along his arms in hope to conduct heat. Just a few moments earlier he had been taken into a building, down an elevator, and into the training room. And it was, as he would have guessed, one of the scariest places he had ever seen in his entire life. So many weapons…it was so sadistic.

And standing to his right were twenty-five other tributes all lined up by the Peacekeepers, waiting for the final set of tributes to arrive. Isa was next to him, but they didn't speak. What with the new surroundings, the increased reality that the games were ever-approaching, and the already-quiet training room, Clay didn't _want_ to speak. There was a spot on the ground he focused his gaze; a spot where he tried to forget it all.

A noise. The door opened. And in walked the district fourteen tributes. They looked even scarier than he figured they would, especially the male. He was hulking and scarred, seemingly unfazed by anything around him. Clay winced; the fourteen male must've been twice his size, at least. And to think he would have to survive in an arena with him. How…? Was this fair? The writing was on the wall, Clay knew. He would undoubtedly get slain by one of the oversized, ruthless, uncaring careers. And he would just be the boy who couldn't even fight back…

"Good," the Peacekeeper said. "That makes twenty-eight," he pointed out, pacing up and down the row of tributes. Some of the tributes were scared, others defiant, others unfazed, and others completely hopeless. Clay just felt so small, so weak, so unimportant compared the strong-looking, angry-looking Peacekeeper in front of them.

"My name's Flux," the Peacekeeper said, introducing himself in a gruff voice. He was tall, strong, and young, probably in his early twenties. He had a mop of dirty-blonde hair that sometimes covered his cloudy blue eyes. As he walked past the tributes over and over, he was cracking his knuckles loudly and threateningly. "I am the head of training center. So if you have general questions, talk to me. Otherwise, take it up with the Peackeeper at each station. That's what they're there for." He paused again. "So before we start, are there any questions?"

"Where are the mentors?" It was the girl from five, Jade. Clay had tons of questions, but he certainly wasn't going to vocalize them. He didn't like speaking with kids his own age, let alone Peacekeepers who looked like they wanted to kill him right then and there.

Flux shook his head. "That I cannot tell you."

"Why?" Armani asked, angry himself. He didn't really feel like he needed the help of a mentor, but still. Something was very off. "And the escort," he pointed out. "What happened to them?"

The Peacekeeper let out a heaving sigh. "The President has asked me to keep that information confidential. So, I will not be disclosing it to you." Flux rolled his eyes.

Clay heard Armani mumble something angrily under his breath about Flux. Clay didn't know how he had the courage to even think about doing something to disrespect the Peacekeeper.

"Any more questions?"

"Why are we training already?" Max, the boy from one, asked. "I thought there was supposed to be chariot rides? This feels rushed."

"Rushed or not…" Flux began, "these are the President's wishes, so I suggest you comply with them."

This was pathetic, Clay thought. Flux wasn't answering anyone's questions at all. Instead, he was just masking his answers by reaping how everything that was going on was the President's wishes. They knew that, already. It was no surprise that President Jayce liked to involve herself in the games more than any President before her did.

"No more questions?" Flux asked. "Well, good. If you think of any, talk to me. Good luck, tributes." He stopped pacing. "You will have three days of training. This is your first day, tomorrow the second, and the day after that the third. This is the only preparation you get before your private session, where you will have to impress the gamemakers with your survival and fighting skills. So, I suggest you use your training wisely, because it can be the ultimate determiner of life or death." He nodded as he said that, his eyes piercing those of every person standing in front of him. "Good. I will announce when the training day is over. Until then…the training room is free to use as you see fit." He turned around and began to walk toward the door. But then he stopped and turned his head. "Within reason, of course."

And then slowly, one by one, the tributes began to disperse. This was it, Clay realized. It was really beginning. Everything he had been worrying about the past day—no—his whole life, was here. And…he didn't even know what to do. Some of the careers already seemed to be talking, introducing themselves, or picking up weapons. Most of the other tributes—even non-careers-seemed to be occupying themselves somehow, with a weapon or otherwise.

But how? Was he the only one who didn't want to do it? The only one who didn't want to pick up a weapon? To start training? He wished he could stop time, just for a little while, to get his bearings. He wasn't ready for this…no. And when he most needed to be ready, too…

He shuddered, looking around the room. There had to be something he could do, or occupy himself with, for a little while, at least. He could try training with a sickle, since that was the only weapon he was remotely decent at using, but was there even one in the training center? And did he really want to show off his probably subpar skills with wielding one? He shook his head and sighed, deciding to walk over to a table full of plants and books.

"Can you hand me that?" a boy next to him asked. Clay was surprised he was being talked to, then quickly picked up the book the boy was pointing to and handed it to him. "Thanks…" the tribute from nine said, paging through the book slowly, a look of wariness on his face. Clay saw that wary look in his eyes and thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't the only one who wasn't ready for the Hunger Games.

And against his better judgment, he spoke, himself. "Can you hand me that?" Clay was pointing to a little plant in a glass jar with a name-tag on it. Leo nodded and picked it up, but the glass slipped from his hands and broke on the table.

The Peacekeeper sitting there just shook his head and said, "Be careful, kid!" And he made a hand-motion telling Leo to go away, somewhere where he wouldn't cause trouble. "You're lucky that plant's not poisonous, you know!" He huffed. "Stupid kids these days."

Leo couldn't handle it. Not this early, not so soon. A few tears began to stream down from his eyes; he didn't want to cry, but he didn't want to be yelled at either, by one of the people he hated most. And…one of the people he feared most. So the boy just walked from the table, his head down, his hands at his eyes.

Clay couldn't help but feel bad. "Hey," he said, before even knowing it. What was he doing? Why did he care about this other boy? Why was he even _speaking _in the first place? "Are you okay?" He felt sympathetic, and tried to show it.

Leo just shook his head. "I can't do this," he decided. "I just…I just don't want to die. And…" He looked at the Peacekeepers all around the room. "It's because of them," he said, a certain frustration in his shaky voice. "They kiss up to the Captiol, when it's so easy for them to rebel." He thought of the President and the way she had the Peacekeepers on leashes.

Clay bit his lip. "I know…I don't like it, either."

Leo just shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts from his mind. He was too used to thinking so pessimistically. He wasn't going to let the Peacekeepers get inside his head again. "Forget about it," he decided. "I just…I'm not good at anything…" He looked around the training room nervously. "Camouflage and making traps is all I can do," he corrected. "But…" He still felt hopeless. And this hopelessness…was giving Clay a sense of realization. That it was never good to condemn yourself.

"It's…it's okay," Clay said quietly, trying to encourage him. "I can't do much either. Not…not even camouflage." He looked ashamed. "So…well, I can't even hide…"

Leo smiled at him. "I would help you." He noticed a hint of an appreciative smile form on Clay's lips. "In the arena. If we see each other, that is." And then he looked at the empty camouflage station. "Or now…?"

For a second Clay didn't respond. Then he looked up and saw Zale hurling a knife across the room and into the direct center of a dartboard. And he saw Rose and Spider practicing their swordfighting skills with each other, looking masterful, but vicious. So, he nodded.

"Yeah," he said. He mustered a shy smile.

"Good!" Leo seemed happy. Whatever tears that had formed in his eyes when the Peacekeeper had yelled at him were long since gone. "You know…I just met you, but…" He trailed off as he and Clay walked to their station. And then when they got there, he said, "If I saw you in the arena…I definitely wouldn't kill you." He looked at some of the menacing careers scattered around the room. And then he looked at Cree, the girl he learned to avoid. "You're nice."

**Calix Niell, age 15 (District 5)**

Ready…aim…and fire. The arrow missed the target by a few inches. Calix shook his head and grumbled angrily. Long distance weapons weren't his forte, he knew, but this was just angering him. If he wanted to win, he'd need to be perfect. If he wanted to be the best tribute out there…there couldn't be anything he couldn't do.

Calix muttered something under his breath as he pulled back the bowstring again. And once more, the arrow missed, just by a little bit. He blew wind up at his hair, his face turning red with frustration. He was just working himself up over this, and he knew it. But when he tried to walk away, to go practice something he was better at, he just found himself coming back. To the knife-throwing station, to the archery station, anything that he _wasn't_ good at. He needed to perfect his skills. He _needed_ to.

A boy brushed past him from behind, picking up a different bow and shooting it at the target next to Calix's. It was Zale, the career from four. He had insanely accurate aim, Calix couldn't believe it. And behind Zale, Calix could see Arriane, the girl from eleven, watching. She seemed impressed with his skills, and being good at archery herself, went to the station next to Zale's and asked, "Could you help me out here?"

Calix watch Zale stop for a second and walk to Arriane. "Have you ever used a bow before?" he asked.

But before she answered, Arriane pulled back the bowstring and released the arrow. It fired almost perfectly, and Zale was impressed. He had never really considered that someone from a non-career district would be such an impressive shot. "Not as good as you," Arriane pointed out, looking over at the arrow Zale had fired just a minute before. "But still pretty good, I think." She smiled at him, shrugging. And Zale, slightly caught off guard by the way she was acting, just faintly smiled back.

Calix rolled his eyes. So what if Zale was good at using one weapon? Arriane judged him too quickly. She took a liking too him too soon before she should have. And it was annoying. Just because Zale was a career didn't mean he was good at everything. Calix would've liked to show off his swordfighting skills. If Arriane saw him with a sword, well, she'd feel dumb for thinking Zale was the best tribute in the arena.

The boy just put down the bow and arrow, frustrated and annoyed. He rubbed his hands through his spiky, golden hair and let out a huge sigh. He needed to release all the stress, all the paranoia. He left the archery room, for good. He didn't know if he'd want to go back.

He looked around the main area of the training room. There were dozens of stations, but nothing really interested him at the moment. He was prepared, he decided. He had been training long and hard for this moment, back in district five. So he could…so he could show Royce, and his parents…that he was worthy.

Calix saw Jade across the room, but for the time being he avoided her. He remembered the way she got under his skin during the train ride, and he was frustrated enough as it was. But still, he'd need alliances. And…he'd need…

But what about that girl over there? Maybe he could talk to her? He cast his gaze at a pale girl at the other side of the room. It was Brett, the girl from ten. She seemed to be talking with another tribute, Kae, but Calix didn't care. He walked over to her confidently, and charmingly said, "You know, you're not gonna get much practice talking like that." He nodded at Kae, smiled, and then back at Brett. She was almost his height, and almost his age.

Brett let out a sheepish smile. "You're right." She realized, turning back to Kae. "Looks like I have some practicing to do. But…please, I'd love to hear more later. Don't be a stranger, okay?" And then she winked at Kae and waved a little good-bye wave as she walked away. Calix found the girl interesting: she was so outgoing, it was almost strange. And in the Hunger Games of all places, even stranger.

Calix walked alongside her. "So where are you heading…" He tried to remember her name from seeing the reapings on TV. "Brett? That's your name, right?"

"Oh, wow, yes!" She looked impressed, surprised, and happy. "I can't believe you knew my name!"

Calix winked at her and smiled. "I know everyone's names. If…they're worth knowing."

Brett slowed herself down for a second, cocked her head to the side, shrugged, and smiled. That sure was nice of him to say, she thought. And as she walked alongside him, she realized he was leading her to the swordfighting station. "Oh, you want to fight with swords, do you?" she asked him jokingly.

He picked up a sword with one hand and fixed his hair with the other. "I can teach you."

Brett rose her eyebrows, smiled, and marched over to pick up her own sword. "I'm pretty good," she warned, her voice still friendly as ever. "So you better watch out!"

Calix liked her drive and so he admitted that he would, even though he thought she might've been joking. But for a few minutes they dueled, practicing moves on each other, exchanging offensive and defensive tactics. Calix usually had the upper hand, being older and considerably stronger, but he mentally admitted that Brett certainly knew how to use a sword.

And as they jousted, Brett was, for the first time all games, truly—or as truly as she could be—happy. Her memories of her best friend Arie and the way he had been ripped apart by the mutts two years ago had infested her mind with negative thoughts the past day and a half. And remembering the way she had trusted the Capitol, loved the Capitol all those years, had just made her feel bad about herself. But maybe…this Calix person would be kind. Maybe he would help her. She didn't want to be too trusting, but it was hard not to be.

The two put down their swords, and Calix's mind was in a flurry. Brett was nice, but almost too nice. She was probably too skinny, too small, too weak. He didn't know. She was pretty good with a sword, but…was she the one? He imagined himself on the television, being watched by…the people from district five. Was she the one…he wanted to be seen with?

"Impressive," he told her. "I'll have to watch my back in the arena." He put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her earthy-green eyes. "I hope I'm not too easy of a target for you." His voice was inviting and joking, and Brett just smiled sheepishly once again. But as she responded, Calix wasn't really listening, for out of the corner of his eye, he was watching someone: there was a girl, Catalina. Maybe she was a little old, but she certainly looked like she knew her way around the arena. She looked like she knew what she was doing. They could make a perfect duo…

But unbeknownst the Calix, there was someone else there watching _him_: Jade. She realized he was looking for a girl. She knew it. She had been watching him, trying to understand him. She didn't know what it was, but she knew Calix had a long, long story…

**Mitsy "Mits" Sumo, age 18 (District 1 Female)**

She gripped the cold steel blade. She ran it across her fingers a few times, careful not to cut herself. By twisting the blade a few inches she could see herself in its reflection, see how she looked. And she didn't like what she saw: a miserable, unhappy girl. A beautiful girl, a teenage siren, but still an unhappy one. Maybe it was the pregnancy?

She hurled the knife at the target: perfect shot. Of course it was a perfect shot. She was a career. She walked over and picked the knife out of the target, and then returned to where she threw from. Or maybe her unhappiness stemmed from being in the Hunger Games at all?

Again, she whipped the knife at the target, and once more, it stuck expertly. She continued to ponder what was bothering her as she retrieved the blade, pulling it out of the target with unnecessary anger and force. She hated it. She hated it all. Perhaps, just maybe, it was the way Max had treated her on the train? The way he was hitting on her, or so she thought?

Another perfect shot. No, that wasn't it. She was used to getting hit on, and even though it annoyed her, it was nothing new. She retrieved the knife once more. Or maybe it was a little bit of everything? Her unborn baby. A fight to the death in the Capitol's arena. Max hitting on her, doing one of the things she hated most. She pulled her hand back again, fury in her eyes. But as she threw, she saw a girl walk up to the adjacent station. She recognized that girl well…Genesis. She turned back forward quickly: the knife was well off target…

And then the hate in her veins and her body began to rise. It was Genesis, the girl she wanted to target. The girl she _needed_ to target. To avenge her little brother's death. Poor Donnie's death…

Chased by Summer Phalinx, the girl from district twelve; she remembered it well. Chased through the woods, then beaten with a club over the head by that revolting girl. How she hated district twelve…hated it.

Mitsy muttered something loudly under her breath and walked over to the knife she had thrown on the floor, watching the girl all the while. Genesis was at her own knife-throwing station, analyzing the target, guessing the trajectory, and getting ready to throw. As Mitsy made her way back to the throwing line, Genesis flung her knife forward; she had pretty good technique, Mitsy saw, and landed the knife pretty well on the target. Not perfectly, but decently.

But while Mitsy knew that although Genesis had a good throwing arm, she also knew that the girl was nowhere near as perfected in the art of knife throwing as she was. And watching Genesis even try…it just made Mitsy angry. And to think, she had the nerve to walk up next to her, to the adjacent station, even though Mitsy could've killed her right then and there.

The career launched her knife forward, but her aim was off. She was getting frustrated. She looked venomously at Genesis, who didn't seem to be paying her much attention. And then as she went to retrieve the knife, she saw Genesis land another good—but not perfect—throw.

Genesis would be the first one dead, Mitsy vowed. The first bloodbath tribute in the 202nd Annual Hunger Games. Yes…Mitsy craved that moment. That moment to avenge her little brother.

The career looked back over at Genesis to see if she was watching her, judging her, convincing herself that she was the superior knife thrower; it didn't look like it, but those district twelve tributes were all alike, Mitsy knew: annoying and conniving. And they think too highly of themselves.

Another throw…and another off-target miss. Mitsy kicked at the ground a little too obviously, drawing Genesis's attention. She was so frustrated, she could have plunged that knife right into the other girl's throat. But instead, she tried to remain calm, walking back to retrieve the knife once again. And for the third obnoxious time, Genesis landed a fairly impressive throw. But still, Mitsy knew that girl had nothing—_nothing_—on her.

As the career returned to the throwing line, she looked down at her stomach. Thankfully she didn't look discernibly pregnant; otherwise, it would have certainly make her look weak and unthreatening in the other tributes' eyes. But still…it was her baby. She felt bad or wanting to hide it, for being happy no one knew it existed. She gently put her hand on her stomach, her stress subconsciously going away.

Yes…it was her baby. And she wasn't going to let anyone—not even Genesis Tavare—get in her way of keeping that baby alive. The prospect of her losing the Hunger Games had not really been one to enter her mind…but now it felt so vivid. As she continued to touch her stomach, she decided that no, her boyfriend, her family, her friends…they would not lose two people to the Hunger Games that year.

"Everything okay?"

Mitsy shot her head up. She noticed it was Genesis who was speaking to her. "What?" she asked, a hint of tension and aggressiveness in her voice.

"You're stomach…" Genesis said slowly, noticing the way Mitsy had been holding it. "I thought maybe you were sick…" She looked at the career, trying to seem friendly, but not _too _friendly.

"I'm not sick," Mitsy said flatly, turning away from Genesis and eying up her next throw. She didn't want anything to do with the girl, nor did she, under any circumstances, want to talk to her. What a fake, Mitsy thought, to act like she was really concerned.

Genesis just shrugged and returned to her own knife throwing. "Okay then." And she released the knife with more force than the first three times. This time, it landed nearly perfectly, her best throw so far.

But Mitsy had enough. She looked down at her stomach for a second, then at Genesis, then at the knife she had thrown. As Genesis began to retrieve that knife, Mitsy turned her body quickly, spinning on her heels, and aimed at Genesis's dartboard. And then she threw, faster and more furiously than ever before, the knife whizzing by Genesis's head and slamming into the dart board with such impact it was amazing the entire thing didn't fall right over.

And when the two girls looked, they saw Mitsy's knife…right in the center, a perfect shot.

Genesis felt threatened. "What was that all about?" she asked, a little scared and a little angry at the same time. The knife had flown just mere feet from her; had Mitsy been more careless, Genesis herself would've been the thing with the knife sticking out of it.

"Just practicing," Misty told her plainly, her voice calm.

Genesis let the words sink in, and for a second she thought about them, her eyes looking up at the ceiling. "No," she corrected. "You're…showing off…or, at least trying to…" She wasn't really sure why Mitsy was being the way she was.

Mitsy shrugged. "I can train wherever I want."

"True," Genesis said, her almond-shaped eyes darting from Mitsy to the knives in the dart board. "But usually most people throw at their own dartboard." She really didn't want to look so stubborn, so rude, because she knew she knew that beneath her tough exterior she was really a nice person, but…was being nice the way she wanted to appear in the Hunger Games? No, it was not. "Here," Genesis said, taking a step back and pointing at all of the dartboards lined up against the wall. "You can have it all. Throw at whichever one you want. Because I'm leaving."

Mitsy grinned as Genesis walked out of the room. She had chased her out…great. It reminded her of the way that vile girl from twelve, Summer Phalinx, had chased her sweet little brother to his grave just two years ago. But in this case, Mitsy realized, the one going to their grave would be Genesis…

**Mario Belvasie, age 16 (District 3 Male)**

Mario was meddling with a piece of wire, matching the colors and piecing things together. But ultimately, he knew he was just wasting his own time. He was a great bomb-builder, so he didn't need any more practice; but he was scared of the other things, of the weapons. As Clyde had said on the train…it would be impossible to kill someone. To just end someone's life. Maybe he'd have the heart to let someone walk themselves into one of his own explosive traps, but…a knife? A sword? No, that would not work…he didn't have the heart for _that_.

He tilted his head to the side as he looked around at everyone in the room. There appeared to be some people already talking, or forming alliances, he thought. He brushed his shaggy brown hair and watched them, his head still tilted to the side like a curious puppy. There were the tributes from two; they were brother and sister, right? They seemed to be mocking some of the other tributes, causing trouble, and showing off. Mario decided to avoid them.

There were others, too. Some were causing trouble: Armani, Mario once thought, was going to start a fist fight with Joust in the middle of the training room for who knows what reason. And he couldn't help but notice Gino insulting anyone who tried to talk to him.

But others, Mario noticed, were getting along well. He liked that; there didn't need to be anger or animosity, even if it _was_ the Hunger Games!

"Hey…" a familiar voice behind him said. Mario smiled when he heard her, and then spun around excitedly on his chair. As he suspected, it was Clyde.

The boy bowed his head jokingly at her. "Yes, Miss Clyde? You have summoned me?"

Clyde couldn't help but to smile. It was amazing, she thought, that someone, at such a horrible time in her life, would make her actually feel happy. "You're funny," she said first, shaking her head. But then her face grew more serious, and she bit her lip a little bit. And then her eyes found his wrist, and the bracelet he had shown her during the train ride.

_"Mine? Well…I really want to get home to not just my family…also my friends. Before I got onto the train today, my friends gave me this."_

_"What do the letters stand for?"_

_"Tara, Cassandra, Olivia, and Lillianne, My four best friends…I'm gonna try to survive for them…because I don't know what I'd do without them."_

She remembered avoiding asking him a subsequent question. But no…not anymore. If these were the last few days she'd be alive, she wanted to live them out as she saw fit. "So…who are those girls on your bracelet?" She pretended like she didn't remember the answer.

Mario looked down at the token and held it with his other hand, smiling, knowing that they were his friends. "My best friends back home." He nodded at her and fixed his hair again.

"Well…" Clyde looked down at her shoes, and then back up. "Are you…involved with any of them?"

"Involved?" Mario asked. "You mean, like—"

"You know," Clyde said, her voice sounding less serious so as not to scare him off. "Dating, or whatever?" She tried to make it seem like a casual question.

Mario knew where this was going. There was no doubt in his mind Clyde was…interested in him. And as adorable as he thought it was…he didn't understand it. Did it make sense to form a romantic relationship in the Hunger Games? And…worse yet…with someone you would be competing against? No…it seemed like an impulsive, desperate thing to do…

But no, that wasn't what bothered him. Mario just shook his head awkwardly, trying to shake the question away without notice. "Um…Clyde, have you done any training yet?"

She was caught off guard and disappointed with what he said. "Yes, well—no. I mean, it doesn't matter. We still have time." She smiled at him charmingly. "Thank you for watching out for me, though." And then stepped forward, just barely. "You know…you're very nice. I didn't expect to find someone like you here, at the games…" She kicked gently at the floor.

But Mario looked strangely anxious, stressed out. His happy demeanor disappeared, and for a second she thought she saw a hint of a frown on his face. Slowly he fixed his hair one more time, and then said, "Sorry, Clyde. But I…I need to go practice."

And then he stood up and scampered off before she could stop him. And there she stood…disappointed. She realized he didn't want to talk to her, and he made it glaringly obviously. She sighed, almost wanting to cry.

But then she lifted her head and looked at him walking away. No…he _did_ want to talk to her. He _did_ want to be her friend…just not her _boyfriend_. Like the girls on his bracelet.

No, it wasn't that he didn't love her. It was that he _couldn't_ love her…

* * *

And as the first day of training was wrapping up, and as the tributes were ready to leave the training room, Flux stopped them at the door. "Before you go to your rooms," he said, "President Jayce has asked you to attend a meeting on the top floor of this building." There was a hint of mystery in his voice. "You _will _want to attend…"

* * *

**Dun dun dun! Yay, the conclusion to the first training day chapter! As you could have guessed, these story lines will keep building upon themselves in the upcoming chapters before the games. **

**And, I'd just like to say...that the next chapter has been the one I've been waiting to write literally since the very beginning of the fan fiction. So I hope you're excited too! Mwahahahahaha!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	20. President Jayce's Interlude

**Wooooo! Finally, I've been waiting to post this chapter for a while now, and I'm glad to say it's finally here. Thanks for bearing with me this whole time, because hopefully this will be a game changing chapter. Anyway, I'm looking forward to seeing how this goes and seeing how the next chapters turn out too. ;)  
**

**Btw these are the reviews of the reviews for both of the last two chapters. This is gonna take awhile...**

**jaffacakesyumm: Very glad you approve of Gino! He's an awesome tribute and a fantastic addition to this story, TRUST ME. I'm also glad you liked the way the D14 tributes turned out, because they're obviously an interesting district what with being criminals/psychopaths and all (even though Kae kind of isn't.) Anyway, thanks for the review!**

**T1nyDanc3r: Haha I love the way you're guessing at things! It's really cool and I'm glad you enjoyed the craziness that is the District fourteen tributes. Hopefully I won't disappoint with your tributes' storylines now that the games have advanced into the next step, the Pre-games! :D Thanks for the review!**

**Atashi Desu: Wow, incredible! Never did I expect to see THIS MANY detailed reviews all at once! It was amazing reading everything that you had to say and I'm so glad that you're still here with us because your reviews are just making this writing process even more enjoyable. ^^ Normally I would respond to each review individually but I think I'll just turn this into a sort of long super-response instead (it's getting late, after all :p) Anyway, I'm glad you liked what you liked and I'm really glad you liked a lot of the tributes (Especially Leem! Don't even get me started on Leem!) And wherever you had questions/concerns, hopefully those things will be answered soon! I will take a look at any confusing parts you may have pointed out (or any areas of concern) and definitely fix them when I edit the whole story again once it's all good and done. Anyway, thank you thank you thank you for everything! Your reviews are amazing and I hope you enjoy how the rest of the story turns out!  
**

**ghostleon: Thank you for your reviews! I was trying to incorporate quite a few of the tributes and mesh together their storylines, since they'll be getting to know each other pretty soon. The next chapter will further entwine them in each others' stories and create some chaos! Mwahahahahah! Thank you!**

**x FallingAshes x: A romance?! Uh oh! This should get interesting! Armani definitely is the crazy type, and who knows, maybe Kae might just fall for that. ;) We'll see. And I really enjoyed your review altogether, it made me laugh! And your second review...oohh, I love your predictions! I love everything! I can't wait to reveal what's gonna go down in the games ;) Anyway, thanks for your awesome reviews as usual!**

**CelestelzaFanLolz: I love you! Thanks for your continued support even though you don't have a tribute in these games! I love reading your reviews and I'm so glad you enjoyed the last two chapters. Hopefully this one won't disappoint! :P**

**ShootingforWishingStars: Ahhh yay I'm so glad you liked Armani! Honestly, he is awesome. Being my first submitted tribute he definitely has been a part of this story the longest technically, so I definitely had some serious time to think about his personality and how I would introduce him! He is great and I can't wait to continue writing him! We'll see what happens! Thanks for your review!**

**HeyyMan: Thank you for your review! I definitely see why you think they'll do well. ;) Anyway, we'll see what happens! Thanks again! :D**

**BecauseofKillianJones: W00t! Glad to hear from ya! I'm really glad that you liked the conclusion of the tributes and I really enjoyed reading your looong list of favorite tributes ;) But that's good! I like having tributes that people like to read about, thanks to all my awesome creators. So yeah, thanks for your reviews, I seriously can't WAIT to write about your tributes. They are awesome! Thanks again! :D**

**IceHeart101: Haha no probs no probs! I'm glad you liked your tribute! I can't wait to continue writing about her and developing her storyline! I hope you like what happens! :) Thanks again!**

**Slappinthebassmon: I hope the meeting doesn't disappoint! It's definitely a game changing moment right here so I hope you enjoy! And good luck to your tributes, by the way, because they are both rather...amazing. So yeah, thanks for your continued support! And yeah...Mitsy and Genesis are definitely not BFFs lol!**

* * *

**President Jayce's Interlude**

* * *

**Syrus Calloway, Training Center**

That was the day of the big announcement, the day he knew President Jayce had been waiting for since the creation of the 202nd Hunger Games. He had to admit, he was excited to spread the news to the tributes, to go face-to-face with the kids themselves. But something about that was almost unsettling at the same time. So many of those tributes would die…and he would be the man to tell them all about it.

But he couldn't let that bother him. He _needed_ to be the Head Game-maker, and that was exactly what he _planned_ to be. Otherwise, what would become of his life? He knew the President was cruel. She would give him death—or worse yet—a torturous life on earth. A life where his family would be ruined, and where his fame and reputation would be ruined. He swallowed hard. He would stick to being the Head Game-maker without complaints, he decided.

The small, black-haired man was riding in the elevator to the top floor of the training center. As usual, he had a headache. He had taken some of the Capitol's wonder-pills earlier that morning, but, also as usual, they weren't working. He was probably immune to them at that point, he figured.

The elevator doors opened into a sitting room. At the end of the sitting room was a set of closed double doors that led to a meeting room. And in that meeting room, he heard voices. The voices of the twenty-eight tributes eagerly waiting to be addressed by the President.

And there was the President herself, in the sitting room, waiting for him. She was on a large velvet sofa, black gloves covering her hands and a black dress cascading around her body. It was as though she were trying to look as morbid as possible. Knowing her, Syrus thought, she probably _was _trying.

"Ah, Syrus!" she said, her voice airy and energetic. She stood up from the couch and gave him a quick handshake and comforting pat on the shoulder. "So glad you could make it!"

Syrus wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not, but he didn't question it. "Thank you," he said. And then he asked, "Has everything been prepared? Are the tributes ready?"

President Jayce nodded and smiled, looking down at him out of her analytical eyes. The height difference between the tall woman and the short man was almost comical. "Yes, they are ready. But first." She paused. "Did you adjust the arena as I suggested?"

Syrus knew that by "suggested" she meant "silently threatened." Had he not gone against his will that morning to make a last minute change to the arena, surely his head—and his entire life—would be on a silver plate. So even though he didn't understand _why_ the tributes needed to die even more grotesquely than normal, he didn't question it. He _couldn't _question it. "I did. Exactly as you recommended."

The President pressed her lips together, puckering them. "Good," she said. That had been a test, she knew. Syrus had never quite been the bloodthirsty man he pretended to be, so when she asked him to do something radical that morning, she knew she would shake him up. To her delight, he didn't disappoint. "I knew you were a good choice," she said, giving him a half-wink out of her right eye. "Now," she said, "Let's go."

But this time it was Syrus who stopped them. "One question," he asked, doing something spontaneous. "Why…why did we have no chariot ride this year?" As it was with most things, Jayce had never really given him an explanation, but had merely told him that the chariot rides would not exist. As far as he was concerned, she was more a Head Game-maker than he was.

"Because…" The President just shook her head. "Why must we hold a grand chariot ride to honor the tributes? That always was my least favorite part of the games. Those chariot rides…" She squinted her bright green eyes. "Do the tributes deserve to be surrounded by _applause_ as they arrive at the Capitol? No. I finally realized that this year…"

Syrus understood her hatred for the tributes and districts, knowing she wanted them to feel anything but welcome in the Capitol, but still…her decision to remove the chariot rides was impulsive. A lunatic idea, he thought. At this rate, she'd be getting rid of the interviews and the training days, as well. "But don't you think it's a staple in the Hunger Games? The chariots? The outfits? The Capitol loves those."

"No," the President said, her voice stern and hard. She didn't like the way Syrus was questioning her. "They don't deserve any sort of praise, any sort of confidence or _anything_." Then she relaxed. "But there will be a chariot ride. Yes…but this time, a chariot ride to their death. A chariot ride," she paused, "into the arena."

Syrus blinked a few times. Why hadn't he heard of this? He was the _Head Game-Maker_. When did the President make these plans? Why was she controlling the games more than he was? "What?" he asked, too surprised to say anything else. Then he regrouped and said, "The Capitol…I guess they will like that…I think."

"It will be a depressing, tear-filled ride for them," President Jayce said. "I can promise you that." She nodded her head, her face unmoving and more serious than Syrus had ever seen it before. She really did hate the country of Panem…

And then she said, "Come, Syrus. They are waiting…"

And so they walked into the meeting room.

**President Jayce, Training Center**

The meeting room was filled by the time President Jayce and Syrus Calloway entered. Along the humongous table were the twenty-eight tributes, fourteen per side, the male and female of the same district facing each other on opposite sides of the table. Scattered around the walls of the room were several Peacekeepers, probably there to guard the President. Flux stood in the corner with four men and four women, who the President nodded to as she entered the room.

And as she did, the room fell silent. Most of the tributes were awestruck to meet the President in person. Some were scared of her, while others hated her. A few of them were even grateful to be in her presence. But still, a frightening silence lingered…

The President walked herself to the head of the table with Syrus at her side. For a moment she just stood there,soaking up the feeling of having twenty-eight pairs of tributes' eyes looking directly at her. She could feel their fear, and that was something she enjoyed.

"Hello, tributes." Her voice was calm. Unusually calm. "By now you have learned that I am here to deliver a message of utmost importance." She paused, letting the words hang in the air. No one was sure what the message was going to be, but a few of them guessed: the reveal of what that year's Hunger Games would bring. The reveal of what would make that year so special.

Syrus was the next to speak. "This year is all about trust." He seemed less threatening than the President did, but still: he was the Head Game-Maker, a man to obviously be feared. "It is important to be able to trust someone. Be it your family, your friends—"

"Your country," the President cut in.

"Yes…" Syrus stopped for just a second. "So this year we have changed things up a bit. And this being my first year as the Head Game-maker, I am eager to reveal the news." He looked at President Jayce's faint smile for a second, then turned back to the tributes. "Or rather, your President will." He knew she was especially excited about this year's games, claiming they would be the best in the history of Panem. So he stepped out of the spotlight, as unfortunate as it was.

The President stepped forward ever-so-slightly. "So, for this year…" She took an overly long, overly dramatic pause in her speech. The tributes grew anxious. And the President loved it. "We will have teams."

Teams…did she say teams? Some of the tributes whispered frantically to each other, while others simply looked at their President in confusion. A few of the louder-mouthed tributes even went so far as to ask for a clarification. Jayce, meanwhile, was enjoying the pandemonium. "Indeed. This year we would like to see how well you work with each other. We would like to see how well the districts can interact with each other." She smiled at them.

A few of the tributes didn't like the sound of that. Isa Daniels frowned; she didn't really want an alliance, let alone a team, nor did she trust people easily. Leem Welsh shuddered; he didn't think he could cope well with others, even if they were there to help. Armani James Byun sighed a deep and long sigh; if he were on a team with Joust, that fiend from district six, he didn't know what he'd do…

"We will split you up," the President continued, "into four teams of seven."

There was more whispering and talking. Those were big teams, some of them thought, while others were surprised the President hadn't split them into only two large factions. "Who chooses the teams?" Catalina, the girl from eight, asked.

The President held up her hand as though telling the girl not to be so impatient. "_We_ will. We have already. Based on a variety of factors. But the tributes have been fairly distributed, I can promise you that. So if you work well together, you should do well together." And then a faint smile formed on her lips. "Otherwise…your team may be a catastrophe."

"So how…" Jade began, quietly at first, then rose her voice to ask her question over the incessant talking and whispering of the others. "Do we win? Is it only one person as usual?"

"Such inquisitiveness," Jayce said, shaking her head. "It will all be answered. As I said, you will be split into four teams of seven. The winners of this year's Hunger Games will be all of the remaining tributes on the last-standing team. So as few as one person can win…or as many as seven."

There was instantaneous shock and awe around the table. Seven? A quarter of the tributes? For a second, every tribute in that room—_every_ tribute—felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe they could survive. Maybe, just maybe…

The President continued, "So as soon as tributes from only _one _team are still alive…the games are over. And the victor, or vic_tors_, will be crowned." She let her words sink into the tribute's minds for a few moments. Most of them seemed happy and excited. Some of the weaker tributes realized they might've been able to ride the coattails of the stronger ones for survival. Surely it wouldn't be as easy as it sounded, but still. Pre-made alliances? That was good for the weaker of the bunch, they realized. And good too for the strong leaders. It really would be a game of whose team worked better together…

"Additionally," Jayce went on, "No team will contain both tributes from a district. The male and the female will be split up." She knew this would spark some sort of controversy and anger.

"No…" the President heard someone say. It was Spider, the twelve-year-old career from two. He looked across the table at his sister, the realization sinking in. The President had spelled it out: they wouldn't be on the same team. _At least one of them would have to die._ "That's not fair," he said, trying to sound rebellious. But everyone could hear the shakiness in his voice.

The President rose her eyebrows. "And since when do you dictate what is fair and what isn't?"

Spider looked at Rose, his face losing its typical coldness. Her face was one of shock and amazement as well; her mouth was hanging open, and he could see in her eyes that she was regretting more than ever volunteering that year. Spider turned away from the other tributes, shielding his eyes a little bit, and coughed. "But…"

"But…?" the President asked.

"Please," Rose spoke up, annoyed at Jayce's antics. "He's sad, don't you understand that?" She furrowed her eyebrows. "And besides, we're from district _two_…" She looked up at the President out of her gray eyes to see if her special pleading was working. She liked the President, she really did. But this…no. For everything district two did for the Capitol…

The President let out a light laugh. "And what exactly is that supposed to mean? 'From district two?' Does that make you special? No, it doesn't." She shook her head. She didn't care if they were careers, or if they were the Capitol's pet district. Those brats would listen to her, and they would listen well.

Spider's leg was bouncing up and down. There was anger, frustration, sadness, and anxiety in his eyes. They couldn't do this to him…they couldn't separate him from Rose… "But it's not fair that me and my—"

"Please," the President said, her voice getting exasperated. "Stop worrying. If you would let me _finish _my explanation…" Her voice trailed off, and she saw Spider quiet down. When all of the tributes were done exchanging worried glances and whispers, she continued. "For, there is another way to win this game."

Spider leaned forward on the table, his eyes wide. The other tributes waited impatiently for her to continue.

"You may also win with your district partner," President Jayce said. "And _not _your team. So long as you are the last two surviving." She looked down at Spider, "So, you and your sister may win this game together." Then she looked at the rest of the tributes at the table. "If the other six tributes on your teams die, of course."

The tributes let the President's words sink in. So there were two ways of winning. Many of the tributes weighed the options in their minds. Did they care enough about their district partner to want to win with them? Surely it would be more difficult than winning with their seven-person teams, but still…

"And without further adieu, I will announce these teams. As I do, I suggest you take a seat next to your appropriate teammates." President Jayce opened an envelop she had cleverly hidden in her pocket and began to read. "On team _Fiducia_…" She read the latin with a slight accent. "Rose Trummer of district two, Mario Belvasie of district three, Joust Ricker of district six, Tobius Gallagher of district seven, Brett Keith of district ten, Genesis Tavare of district twelve, and Kaelei Cross of district fourteen."

The tributes searched for each other as she read off the names. Genesis let out a sigh of relief when Mitsy's name was not called. She didn't know how she would've been able to work with that insane girl. But as she looked at the career out of the corner of her eye, and saw her glaring back at her, teeming with anger…Genesis realized then that this was even worse. Now, Mitsy would have a good reason to kill her. Genesis didn't frown, but she was cursing at herself on the inside.

"On team _Honora_…" The President received many nervous looks from the waiting tributes. "Maxwell Floyd of district one, Clyde Grey of district three, Jadelyn Ramirez of district five, Jocileia Amacrox of district seven, Catalina Perez of district eight, Foster James of district eleven, and Armani James Byun of district fourteen."

As the names were being read, a discernible crease of unhappiness was forming on Armani's forehead. Such a worthless team, he thought. Half of the tributes looked unworthy to even be classified as tributes, and if he didn't know any better, he was certainly the greatest asset to their team. So be it, he decided. So be it…

"On team _Spera_…" More worried glances. "Zale Shores of district four, Calix Niell of district five, Lokius Puliston of district eight, Cree Jenson of district nine, Leem Welsh of district ten, Arriane Lane of district eleven, and Isa Daniels of district thirteen."

Calix couldn't help but frown when he heard Zale's name get called. And then after his, Arriane's. How frustrating. And Isa, too, found it unsettling that she needed to _ally_ with the district four male. Flashbacks of her brother Aaron and the way he had been brutally murdered in that clearing played again and again inside her head. And as she looked at Zale, she could only think of Aaron's killer…

"And that leaves, on team _Verum_…" The remaining tributes found each other before she even read off their names. "Mitsy Sumo of district one, Spider Trummer of district two, Carmili Lucia Moreira of district four, Buck Jr. Dirk of district six, Leo Velveteen of district nine, Gino Busatil of district twelve, and Clay Tyson Hoffman of district thirteen."

Carminha looked down at her lap, disappointed. No…_she wasn't with Max_. And as she thought about it more and more, the realization sunk in further and further: one of them would have to die. Would _have _to die. She put a hand up to her forehead, closed her eyes, and began to ask herself what she and Max ever did to deserve these lives they lived…

But there was happiness among the team, too. Leo was more than excited to share a team with Clay, who felt like the games were being kinder and kinder to him each second. He remembered when he felt depressed and utterly hopeless. But now…his will to live—and his belief that he could survive—was stronger than ever before.

"I hope you're happy with your teams," the President said, probably not nearly as hopeful as she said she was. "Because this is the team you will try to win with. Or, as I said earlier…the team you may replace with your district partner."

As she said that, Spider shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He thought he felt the glares of his teammates on his neck. His team…he knew they already didn't like him. He knew they couldn't trust him. They knew he wanted to win with his sister…and _not _them…

"Tonight," Jayce continued, "you will have an opportunity to talk and strategize with your team, and get to know each other. Unlike previous years, your sleeping quarters will not be distributed based on your district. This year, each team will get a luxury suite all to themselves. Seven bedrooms, eight bathrooms, a huge kitchen and dining area…" She trailed off. "But before you go…" She turned to a group of people standing near the corner of the room. "There are a few people I think you've all been waiting to meet." And then she nodded her head.

Four men and four women stepped forward and approached the table, with Flux leading them. The burly Peacekeeper then announced, "These men and women…" He turned to them and then back to the tributes. "Will be your mentors this year."

The tributes seemed excited and relieved, letting out a collective sigh of relief. As usual, a chorus of muttering and whispering echoed around the table. Jayce cut them off. "We have selected eight winners from the various fourteen districts to be your mentors—two for each team, one man and one woman. Their job is to teach you how this game will work and give you preparatory tips before you enter the arena. As you might have guessed…" the President paused. "There are no escorts this year." And then she muttered almost silently, "_Most of them are annoying, anyway_."

Flux waited for the President to finish speaking, and when she did, he took a step forward and began reading from a piece of paper. "Mentoring team Fiducia is Anthrax Piston of district one, the winner of the 164th Annual Hunger Games." Anthrax was tall and burly, having a stone-cold face buried beneath a large, black mustache. The man was certainly the career-type man everyone expected him to be, and lived the normal career-type life anyone would expect him to live. He didn't say anything as Flux read off his name, but merely nodded his head at his team and looked at the tributes out of his cold and unmoving eyes.

"And also mentoring team Fiducia is Violet Reed of district nine, the winner of the 190th Annual Hunger Games." Violet, too, was tall, but was rather lanky. She was dressed fabulously, however, not afraid to display her obvious wealth. After winning the games, Violet had herself moved to the Capitol with the help of her father, the mayor at that time, and his political power. Since then, she had become more and more like one of the Capitol citizens each day. Her friends back in district nine thought it a real shame…

Flux moved to the next team. "Mentoring team Honora is Jax Ryan James of district three, the winner of the 184th Annual Hunger Games." The man who stepped forward looked handsome, charming, and very fit. He had soft brown hair that fell perfectly around his warm blue eyes, and had a mysteriously charming smile. The truth was that during his games, he was the shy, weak boy who no one thought had a chance. But after winning the games, he became so addicted to physical enhancement and strength training that that day, eighteen years later, he looked like he could've been a career.

"And also mentoring team Honora is Pietra Malcomb of district four, the winner of the 175th Annual Hunger Games." The black-haired, strong-looking woman who stepped forward looked much older than her true age. But it was no lie that the 175th Hunger Games had been one of the bloodiest games in the history of Panem, so bloody that even the winner, a _career_ from district _four_, sunk into deep depression. Since then, her depression had waned, but the older she got, the more she believed that life was just a cruel joke.

And then Flux went on to the third team. "Mentoring team Spera is Worner Liuk of district seven, winner of the 195th Annual Hunger Games." Worner still looked like a child. Having won his games at only thirteen years old, he wasn't much older just seven years later. He was short with messy black hair, and looked nothing like a typical career-type winner. No…that was because he had won his games almost by accident. When he had reached the final three, along with two careers, he hid, waiting for his inevitable death. But the careers somehow killed each other and neither survived, so he was crowed the (almost disappointing, as the Capitol had said) winner.

"And also mentoring team Spera is Emerald Jinx of district one, the winner of the 191st Annual Hunger Games." She had come just four years before Worner and was seven years older than he was. But the short, blonde-haired girl was unusual for a career. She had not been bloodthirsty. For that matter, she didn't even want to be in her games at all. But she had still been a fighter, and even though she hated doing it, she had never refrained from plunging a knife into a fellow tribute's heart…

Finally, Flux read off the final mentors. "And mentoring team Verum is Nexus Ash of district four, winner of the 160th Annual Hunger Games." The man who stepped forward couldn't have looked unhappier. He had won his games being a strapping young career, but he had turned into a selfish, overweight snob in the years thereafter. He was short and had unkept black hair atop his head, and often muttered things under his breath about anything that seemed to annoy him. Which, frankly, was most things…

"And also mentoring team Verum is Lotus Relic of district two, winner of the 187th Annual Hunger Games." Being the last mentor to step forward made her feel especially important. The tall woman had frizzy black hair that often got in the way of her soulless eyes. She wore make-up in unnecessary excess, making her look like some sort of vampiress. To help her win her games, she had smuggled in sharp metallic claws that she wore as finger nails. With them, she slit the throats of eight victims that year, achieving a record number of kills by any one tribute. And worse yet, was that the ex-President, though at first angry by her violation of the rules, ignored her metallic fingernails altogether since the Capitol citizens seemed to like them so very much…

And that was all. The tributes looked on at their fellow mentors, some scared, some curious, some disappointed, and some excited. These were the mentors most of them had long been waiting for, for better or for worse. "And there you have it," President Jayce said, a sly smile creeping up on her lips. "Now, your mentors will take you to your suites, where you will finally get to know each other." And then the creeping smile became a mysterious grin. "Good luck, tributes. And may the odds…be _ever _in your favor."

* * *

**TEAM FIDUCIA**

Tributes

Rose "Row" Trummer, age 17 (District 2 Female)

Mario Belvasie, age 16 (District 3 Male)

Joust Ricker, age 18 (District 6 Male)

Tobius Gallagher, age 18 (District 7 Male)

Brett Keith, age 14 (District 10 Female)

Genesis Tavare, age 17 (District 12 Female)

Kaelei "Kae" Cross, age 17 (District 14 Female)

Mentors

Anthrax Piston, 164th Annual Hunger Games (District 1)

Violet Reed, 190th Annual Hunger Games (District 9)

* * *

**TEAM HONORA**

Tributes

Maxwell "Max" Floyd, age 18 (District 1 Male)

Clyde Grey, age 15 (District 3 Female)

Jadelyn "Jade" Ramirez, age 16 (District 5 Female)

Jocileia "Chay" Amacrox, age 18 (District 7 Female)

Catalina "Catie" Perez, age 17 (District 8 Female)

Foster James, age 13 (District 11 Male)

Armani James Byun, age 18 (District 14 Male)

Mentors

Jax Ryan James, 184th Annual Hunger Games (District 3)

Pietra Malcomb, 175th Annual Hunger Games (District 4)

* * *

**TEAM SPERA**

Tributes

Zale Shores, age 17 (District 4 Male)

Calix Niell, age 15 (District 5 Male)

Lokius Puliston, age 14 (District 8 Male)

Cree "Ree" Jenson, age 14 (District 9 Female)

Leem Welsh, age 12 (District 10 Male)

Arriane Lane, age 16 (District 11 Female)

Isa Daniels, age 17 (District 13 Female)

Mentors

Worner Liuk, 195th Annual Hunger Games (District 7)

Emerald Jinx, 191st Annual Hunger Games (District 1)

* * *

**TEAM VERUM**

Tributes

Mitsy "Mits" Sumo, age 18 (District 1 Female)

Spider "Spide" Trummer, age 12 (District 2 Male)

Carmili "Carminha" Lucia Moreira, age 17 (District 4 Female)

Buck Jr. Dirk, age 15 (District 6 Female)

Leo Velveteen, age 12 (District 9 Male)

Gino Busatil, age 18 (District 12 Male)

Clay Tyson Hoffman, age 13 (District 13 Male)

Mentors

Nexus Ash, 160th Annual Hunger Games (District 4)

Lotus Relic, 187th Annual Hunger Games (District 2)

* * *

**:DD Yay! **

**First and foremost I would like to say that if this whole teams idea thing has already been used I definitely have not copied it, or intentionally copied it. The first SYOT I read on this site I started reading just a few weeks ago and it is still in the reapings chapters so if this idea had already been used before I'M SORRY. But I tried to change it up a little bit, including multiple ways of victory/team sizes/etc. I think it'll make for a pretty interesting game!**

**Anyway, I would loooooooove to hear from you guys! And I have TWO questions this chapter, actually! Number one: Which team is your favorite? Take the word "favorite" however you want to! ^^ And question two: Which team do you think has the best chance at victory? I'd love to hear your opinions on this one.**

**Thanks!**


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